


Plus One

by Moosey



Series: The Search That Ends Well [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, An American Werewolf in Italy, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hale Pack, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Sheriff Stilinski, Pack Feels, Stiles and Scott need plus-ones, Topping from the Bottom, but just a little bit, so does Stiles, weddings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8104285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: “Dude, I can’t show up solo to my ex-girlfriends wedding. I can’t do that,” Scott stressed, his face arranged in an expression that was almost comically anguished, like one of those weird, sad-face, tragic drama masks. “So we find you a date,” Stiles shrugged, as though it was no big deal. Scott was adorable, in reasonably good shape, and probably the best guy Stiles had ever known, or would ever know. He wouldn’t have any real issues with getting a girl. “Stiles, it’s in two weeks. Two weeks. How do I find a girl willing to date me, and come abroad with me to my exes wedding, in two weeks?!” ******A sort of fake/pretend relationship fic set in Florence at Allison's wedding.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> ...Award for least inventive title EVER goes to me! 
> 
> Okay, so next up in my foray into fanfic, will be me attempting to post with a schedule. I'm all full of good intentions to update this every other day, because it's totally written (and backed up!) and just needs looking over for mistakes. 
> 
> Warnings for Kate Argent (ugh). I'll update tags as I go along, if I can think of any I've missed. I'm a subpar tagger, so feel free to let me know any you think should be added. 
> 
> Once again, this is un-beta'd, so feel free to point out any mistakes if you notice them and con-crit welcome! 
> 
>  
> 
> -Ax

“Dude, I can’t show up solo to my ex-girlfriends wedding. I _can’t_ do that,” Scott stressed, his face arranged in an expression that was almost comically anguished, like one of those weird, sad-face, tragic drama masks.

“So we find you a date,” Stiles shrugged, as though it was no big deal. Scott was adorable, in reasonably good shape, and probably the best guy Stiles had ever known, or would ever know. He wouldn’t have any real issues with getting a girl.

“Stiles, it’s in two weeks. _Two weeks._ How do I find a girl willing to date me, _and_ come abroad with me to my exes wedding, in _two weeks?!”_

“Scotty, we knew this was coming…”

“I thought if I just ignored it then maybe it would go away,” Scott replied slightly sullenly, his dark eyes going kind of sad and lost looking. It was like when Puss in Boots pulled the simpering big-eyed expression, and melted Stiles just as effectively.

“Well we have options. Ask a friend? What about… uh…” Stiles trailed off with a frown. He couldn’t think of a single girl they knew who would A) do this favour for them, and B) wasn’t already attending the wedding due to a pre-existing friendship with Allison. Allison Argent, first love of Scott McCall. They’d met over the lending of a pen on Allison's first day of school after transferring, and they’d fallen into a tumultuous relationship that had all the overwrought passion expected of a teenage romance, and left its lingering marks on them both. They’d all remained friends, and it really wasn’t weird that Allison was inviting Scott and Stiles to her wedding.

Probably.

“Exactly Stiles! Who am I gonna ask? Everyone _I_ know, _she_ knows. Every single girl I know, is already _friends_ with Allison,” Scott near-wailed, throwing his body down on the slightly sagging sofa next to Stiles and dropping his head heavily onto Stiles’ shoulder. “I hate how small this town is.”

“So we look outside of Beacon Hills. Big wide world out there Scotty-boy, just full of eligible girls who would be lucky to date you.”

“Don’t wanna date anyone,” Scott mumbled, his voice all muffled and distorted from where his face was mashed into Stiles’ shoulder.

“So you don’t want to go Allison's wedding alone, but you don’t want to date anyone either?”

“Exactly.”

“If you don’t see the glaring problem there dude, then I don’t know how to help you,” Stiles said, continuing to click through varying sites as he aimlessly browsed the Internet.

“Why did we both put down plus-ones? Why did we do that? We don’t have plus-ones. We will show up all alone and unloved and everyone will look at me and feel bad for me,” Scott ranted, pushing away from Stiles and slumping back against the arm of the sofa. He kicked his feet up and tucked his toes under Stiles’ thigh, kicking at him when Stiles didn’t answer him immediately.

“No one is going to feel bad for you dude. We all know how it went down. You guys tried, it didn’t work out, you’ve both dated other people… They’re our friends too, you know? No one will be pitying you.”

“Stiles. She’s marrying a European millionaire.”

“Yes, she is. And we are happy that she is happy.”

“I _am_ happy. So happy. I… I always wanted her to be happy. With me or with someone else. That’s the most important thing, always. I just… wish I didn’t have to show up alone, I guess.”

“You won’t be alone dude. I’ll be with you,” Stiles offered Scott a winning grin. A smile tugged at Scott’s mouth until he finally grinned back. “You’ll be the luckiest dude there, showing up with me on your arm. Everyone will be green with envy,” Stiles preened. 

“You’re an idiot,” Scott grinned, prodding Stiles with his foot. “So um. You don’t have a plus-one?” Scott eventually asked, slightly tentatively.

Stiles let out an exaggerated sigh, and shoved his laptop to the side. “No. No plus-one for me. I am officially just a… one. A lonely, single, one. Forever doomed to a state of one-ness.”

“So Adam never called back?”

“No, Adam didn’t call back. Not that I blame him. Our only actual date ended in food poisoning. And that was after the awkward stunted conversation. I talked at him about vorarephilia Scotty. On a first date. In detail. He probably thought I was going to cannibalise him or something!”

“Dude,” Scott said in commiseration.

“It was like a train wreck. I could feel the worlds bubbling up, how bad they were going to be, but I couldn’t stop it. Erotic cannibalism and food poisoning,” Stiles sighed.

“So. No plus-one.”

“No plus-one,” Stiles agreed. “I think even with the offer of a free trip to Italy I couldn’t find a date at the point. It’s good that I’m so well practised at being single,” Stiles shrugged.

“It’s okay if you show up alone though, no one will be judging you,” Scott decreed, managing to sound both supportive and anxious all at once.

“No one will be judging you either,” Stiles reiterated.

“Just a bunch of rich Europeans, with swanky suits and private jets,” Scott pouted.

He maybe had a point there. A tiny one. Stiles felt for him, he really did. “So we look outside of Beacon Hills,” Stiles said again, “starting now.” He pushed Scott’s legs to the floor and stood up, hands on his hips. “That’s it dude, get up. We are going out. To a bar. To find you a girl, a date, a plus-one. A lucky lady.”

“Stiles-”

“Nope, it’s the only solution. You don’t have time for anything else. Get up. Up, up, up,” he chanted, pushing at Scott’s shoulder.

“Okay!” Scott said loudly, waving his arm around at Stiles to stop his pushing. “I’m up!”

“Now you need to do something about that,” Stiles said, pointing at Scott.

“What?” Scott asked, looking down at his stomach. It _was_ where Stiles was pointing he supposed.

“That,” Stiles said again, flailing a hand to encompass all of Stiles. “Go shower and get dressed in something enticing and do your hair. Make yourself look all pretty.”

“Enticing?”

“You know. Something smart and fitted. Wear an outfit Lydia would approve of. Go on,” he shooed Scott towards his room, and took a moment to glance down at himself. He could probably do with sprucing himself up too, considering he currently had a sauce stain from where he’d dribbled it earlier. He yanked off his stained shirt and tugged on a clean-ish one, and decided that was probably good enough. They weren’t looking for a plus-one for him.

Scott came trotting out about 30 minutes later, in his best pair of dark wash jeans (purchased on a trip with Lydia), and a slim fit white t-shirt that made his skin look all glowy and healthy, and a deep red over-shirt. Stiles gave him a scrutinising once over as Scott twirled around on the spot, and declared him a success. He shoved Scott into his distressed brown leather jacket, grabbed his own cardigan - like the grown up equivalent of a hoodie he’d figured - and hustled out to where Roscoe was parked on the street outside.

They drove an hour or so to the nearest decently sized town, and used Google to figure out which bar was the best starting point for their plan, and set out down the main street to find Dram&Rabbit, a bar that apparently specialised in scotch. Not that either of them liked scotch, even a little bit, but it was a popular bar and as good a place as any to visit.

They wove their way through the crowded room, heading for the bar of stylishly distressed oak, surrounded by people at least two deep. There was the loud thrum of conversation around them, and low level music that was vaguely trip-hoppy and bassy, but unintrusive. It was all very… hip. Scott and Stiles stood slightly awkwardly, shuffling forward when the masses around the bar moved, and gradually got closer to the polished bar surface. Stiles wiggled his way into a sliver of space, and leaned casually on his elbow, looking around. The beer taps were all shiny shiny, and there were rows of bottles filled with varying degrees of amber liquid, some rich and deep looking, others lighter. There were also barrels, but Stiles’ presumed they were decorative only, in spite of their shiny shiny taps.

“What can I get for you?” asked the barmaid, glancing over at Stiles and Scott passingly. Her voice was slightly smokey, and undeniably sultry. She cast a slightly dismissive look at them, and Stiles went from zero-to-crush in a heartbeat. “What do you recommend?” he asked, aiming for suave, giving her a little nod.

“I recommend scotch,” she replied evenly.

“Shocker,” Stiles replied, grinning.

Her lips gave a little twitch of amusement, and she gathered up her long brown hair to drop behind her shoulders. “Fine. Sit tight boys,” she said with a little wolfish grin, pulling out two straight squat glasses. She dropped in perfect cubes of clear ice from somewhere under the bar, using shiny shiny tongs, and tipped in one of the paler looking liquids. “Here you go,” she said, sliding the two glasses over with two white paper napkins. “Not too smokey or heavy. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm your juvenile palettes,” she smirked. “That’ll be $18.”

Stiles blinked at the two glasses, not even half full of liquid even with the ice and blinked up at the barmaid. “Problem gentlemen?” she asked, cocking her head a little. Her eyes were a dark brown and lined with artfully smudged kohl. “No, no problem,” Stiles finally said, keeping his outrage silent. He passed her a twenty, silently saying a sad farewell to the money and resigning himself to ramen again. If he was lucky. Another round in this place and he’d be subsisting on nothing more than air and good old H20.

“Dude I don’t like scotch,” Scott hissed, leaning close to Stiles.

Stiles shoved the glass in Scott’s hand. “You never know, maybe our tastebuds have changed. It happens every 7 years,” Stiles countered, taking a tentative sip of the drink. He barely held from scrunching his face up in distaste and looked at Scott to find a similar expression on his face. “Nope. Haven’t changed. This stuff is gross. I just paid twenty bucks to drink aged gasoline,” Stiles groused.

They were soon shoved away from the bar by the crowd, and found themselves leaning against a wall watching the people milling around. The crowd was slightly older than them, lots of people in business suits as though they’d come straight from work, and Stiles decided this was probably the wrong place for them to find Scott a wedding date. Or a date at all.

“Finish these and move on?” Stiles suggested.

Scott nodded at him vigorously, and all but downed his drink, grimacing. He looked moments away from doing the pinchy nose thing Stiles’ mom had always said would help medicine taste better when he was a kid. She may have been bending the truth a little there. Stiles left his on a table as they passed by, heading for the door and freedom. They burst out into the cool night air, and knocked shoulders.

“Dude, we are so not Dram&Rabbit people,” Scott declared.

“I felt like I was dragging down their cool factor by even being in there. I felt so _judged_ ,” Stiles agreed. “I’m not adult enough to drink scotch,” he added, as they passed by an alleyway.

“Yeah no shit,” came a voice from the darkness. Stiles would vehemently deny his startled yelp if ever asked, but Scott also yelped and that made him feel a bit better about his own lack of cool. “Smooth,” the barmaid laughed as she appeared at the mouth of the alley. She leaned against the raw brick wall, and grinned at them both, her dark eyes flashing with mischief.

“Hey, we’re the epitome of smooth,” Stiles argued. “You can’t just creep out of the shadows and expect us to not be surprised. Even _John McClane_ would have been startled.”

“John McClane? That’s your go-to tough guy I presume?”

“Die Hard is a classic,” Stiles hissed.

“No argument from me,” the barmaid agreed. “But he wouldn’t have shrieked.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Stiles argued.

The girl smirked at Stiles as though he was greatly amusing, and looked them both over. “Sure I don’t hon. Look, why don’t you boys try Accalia. It’s a bar down on fifth, and it’s probably more your speed. A lot of kids from the college drink there, and it’s less… mature, than this place.”

“I feel like you’re implying we’re immature,” Stiles said, squinting at the girl.

“I’m not implying, I’m outright stating it,” she replied.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, giving her his best glare. “I think I like you,” he decided.

“Of course you do kid,” she agreed, condescension dripping from her tone.

“Will you be my plus-one to a wedding in Italy in two weeks. All expenses paid.”

“You wish,” she replied, patting him on the cheek.

“Thought it might be a long shot,” Stiles sighed.

“The longest,” the girl agreed.

“We’re Stiles and Scott,” Stiles replied, seeing as how they were probably overdue an introduction.

“Well, Stiles-and-Scott,” she said, making them sound like a single unit. “Go to Accalia. Tell Erica that Cora sent you.”

“Would Erica be willing to accompany one of us to a potentially awkward wedding?” Stiles queried.

“You know, she probably would. You’re just the kind of fun she’d like. Her boyfriend Boyd might object though,” she shrugged, sounding nonchalant.

“Well damn,” Stiles sighed.

“You both looking for dates?” Cora asked, looking to Scott. He nodded. “You’re a cutie aren’t you?” she said to Scott. Who nodded again, but a bit pinker this time. “You know, I think you’ll get lucky there. But I’m not gonna say with who, because I want to be proven right,” Cora grinned. “Gotta get back to work, but it was good to meet you Stiles-and-Scott,” she said, walking backwards into the shadows of the alleyway again. It was slightly unsettling, how she just disappeared into the darkness, and Stiles was 98% sure he was going to fall in love with her. Mean and pretty was his weakness, and Cora was both in spades.

“So, Accalia?” Stiles asked, looking to Scott.

“Sure, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Scott replied, sounding unsure.

“If it’s her recommendation? I wouldn’t be so sure,” Stiles said, checking his phone for directions. “Still, we have no other plan, so Accalia ho,” he exclaimed, pointing to their right.

Stiles looped his arm through Scott’s, and they picked their way through unfamiliar streets to find the bar, grinning as they rounded the corner to be met with noise and groups of young, age-and-attire appropriate patrons clustered outside in a walled off area, holding bottles of beer and tall glasses off what looked like normal alcoholic drinks, _with mixers_.

And sitting with their backs to the wall, barely glancing around at the people that were laughing and milling about them, were two of the most intimidating guys Stiles had ever seen.

One was built like a proverbial panzer-tank, and the other was by no means a small guy. He was all muscle, and stubble, and a glare that could peel paint. Both were clad in leather, and their stony gazes swung over Scott and Stiles as they ambled up to the building, passing through the crowd out front and aiming for the door. Scott was oblivious, chattering away about how he needed to remember to buy a european plug adapter, and could Stiles remind him to add that to the shopping list. He didn’t notice the imperceptible tightening of Stiles’ grip on his arm where they were still linked, as the stubbled man looked at him like Stiles’ very existence was an insult to him, nostrils flaring slightly. The other guy nudged him with his shoulder, but the stubbled guy didn’t break his stare; Stiles could feel his eyes boring into the back of his skull as they headed inside, and the door swinging shut behind them was a relief.

“Why are you so tense?” Scott finally asked, looking at Stiles with concern.

“Uh, I’m not,” Stiles deflected, giving a full body wiggle and letting go of Scott. “Be bar bound and get us libations while I pee,” Stiles commanded, clapping Scott on the shoulder. He dodged past people - again, a much more comfortable crowd than the last bar - and tried to shake off his tension as he relieved himself and washed up. By the time he was at the bar with Scott, he didn’t feel quite like hiding away in a dark corner from prying eyes anymore.

“Dude, beer,” Scott announced as Stiles approached him, a big grin on his face. He handed a bottle of beer to Stiles, who took a big swallow and sighed happily.

“I love you beer,” Stiles said to his bottle, fingers loose around the bottle neck.

“Let me guess? You just got tricked into buying overpriced scotch?” the blonde behind the bar asked. She leaned over a little and Stiles had to physically restrain himself from looking at her cleavage.

“Yep, yes, we did,” he said, nodding and maintaining staunch eye contact. “Cora sent us here,” he tacked on.

“Well, any friend of Cora’s is a friend of mine,” the blonde said, smiling a truly terrifying smile with matte red lips. “Erica,” she said, gesturing to herself. “I co-own this place,” she said, settling her weight on her palms on the bar top.

“I’m Scott, and this is Stiles,” Scott said, pointing with his beer bottle.

“Well Scott and Stiles, have fun tonight,” she drawled, procuring a small white towel from nowhere. She gave them a little head nod and walked off, wiping the bar as she moved to serve other customers.

They found a table - against all odds - and made chit chat with varying college students, and the next time Stiles went to get them drinks, it was the big panzer-tank dude from outside. Stiles blinked at him for a moment, and the guy raised an eyebrow at him, waiting without any outward sign of impatience, or seeming to mind that Stiles was staring, not wanting to look around for Stubbly McRageface. “Um. Beer,” Stiles blurted.

Erica sashayed over and propped her chin up on the big dude’s shoulder and grinned at Stiles. “Stiles, meet Boyd. Be nice to the customers baby,” she purred at him, dropping a kiss on the big dude - Boyd’s - neck.

He smiled, and it changed his whole demeanour. “I’m always nice,” he said, grabbing two bottles and popping the tops of them.

Erica nuzzled Boyd’s shoulder as he put the beers on the bar, and smiled at Stiles. “On the house,” she said, waving off Stiles efforts to get his wallet out. “Like I said, a friend of Cora’s is a friend of mine.”

“I, uh. Thanks,” Stiles said, looping his fingers around the two bottlenecks. “Appreciate it,” he said with a nod, turning to walk back to their table. His eyes caught on the sight of Stubbly McRageface, standing over by a set of swinging doors. He looked like he’d just paused for a moment, but gotten stuck, distracted, staring at Stiles with that expression again. Stiles halted and stumbled over his feet for a moment, and scrabbled towards Scott, as though Scott could protect him from stubbly-guy and his super-intense glares.

“Oh wow, that sounds awkward!” The girl Scott was talking to sounded so sincere that Stiles could barely even believe it. He himself was capable of even a believable level of sincerity most of the time, and yet here were these people who managed it in droves. Baffling.

“I know! I mean, I’m totally okay, I’ve moved on, but man… I don’t wanna show up alone!” Scott agreed, nodding his head and reaching out to take his beer from Stiles absently.

“No, that sounds like it would just… suck,” the girl said, once again dripping sincerity. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Scott replied, deflating slightly.

“Well I’m sure lots of girls would be happy to date you. You seem like a really nice person,” she said, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. Stiles blinked dumbly, and wondered if he was hallucinating. It was like there were two Scotts. Scott Scott, and then another, girl Scott.

Scott gave her the most adorably bashful grin, and Stiles thought he might throw up they were so cute. “Thanks,” Scott said, as though he’d never had such a nice compliment in his life.

“I’m just being honest, but. You’re welcome,” she smiled. Stiles got his phone out, wondering who he could text about the sudden discovery of girl-Scott.

“Stiles, bro. Meet Kira,” Scott was poking him in the arm until he put his phone away and smiled at Kira, a pretty Asian girl with the sweetest smile. He made small talk, decided he approved of Kira because she went off on nearly as many tangents as Stiles did himself, and eventually did the appropriate wing-man thing and excused himself so Scott and Kira could get better acquainted.

Stiles could already see the dopey look in Scott’s eyes that meant he was a goner. And he was pretty sure the matching expression on Kira’s face meant she was just as gone as Scott.

He wound his way outside, and sat on the low boundary wall sipping his beer and texted Lydia, composing a message that could reasonably be compared with an essay. Lydia had been in Italy with Allison for the past four months, and Stiles _missed_ her, so much more than he’d expected to. He’d thought he’d loved Lydia for most of his school career, only realising once he’d given up on his useless crush that she was actually worth so much more than he’d given her credit for. Not only was she beautiful and smart, which he’d always known, but she was an amazing person and friend, underneath the hard armour she wore. Stiles was the luckiest guy on earth to be able to call her a friend.

A pair of feet in polished black shoes entered his line of vision above his phone screen, and he slowed his typing to a halt, glancing up to find the owner of the feet standing close to him and looking down.

“Hi,” the man said with a smile.

“Hi,” Stiles said, slightly wary. He sent his message to Lydia without taking his eyes off the guy and dropped his phone to his lap, fingers still curled around it.

“May I?” the man asked, gesturing to the wall next to Stiles.

“Sure. It’s not like I own the wall,” Stiles shrugged, scooting up just a little.

The guy sat and offered his hand. “Well no, that’s true I suppose. I’m Peter.”

“Stiles,” Stiles offered, shaking Peter’s proffered hand. He looked like he’d fit in at the other bar better, stylish and neat, and older than Stiles by a fair amount. He was hot though, so Stiles wasn’t about to complain.

“An unusual name,” Peter said, a slight tilt to his head. He looked at Stiles as though he was deeply interested in whatever Stiles’ reply would be, perhaps expected an anecdote about his name, but something about it rung false.

“No one could accuse my parent’s of going down the conventional name route,” Stiles said glibly. Peter smiled, a politely amused smile and took a sip of his drink.

“You’re new to town,” Peter surmised, once again making a statement and leaving the space for Stiles to fill with information about himself. It was a smooth trick.

“I am,” Stiles nodded, wondering if he should leave it at that. But he wasn’t sure how long Scott would be with Kira, and talking to Peter was better than sitting alone, right? And had Stiles mentioned he was hot? “My buddy and I are from not too far away though.”

“Your friend is inside then.”

Stiles gave a little snort of laughter and nodded. “Yeah. He’s inside. Do you even know how to ask a question?” he asked around a smirk.

“I do,” Peter replied, smirking back. “I have a question for you Stiles. Would you like to come home with me?”

Stiles felt his mouth drop open, a gormless gawk accompanied with a distinct lack of blinking. “Wha-? I. Are you serious?”

“You wanted a question,” Peter pointed out calmly.

“Yeah but, I was thinking more ‘can I buy you a drink,’ and less ‘come home with me for crazy monkey sex’.”

“At no point did I mention monkey sex,” Peter stated.

“No but we both know you meant it,” Stiles argued.

“Did I,” Peter said, turning the question into a statement.

“So you don’t want to have sex with me?” Stiles asked, turning his body to face Peter slightly.

Peter smiled, a slow unveiling of teeth, “I never remotely said _that_.”

“So you do?” Stiles persisted.

“It doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend an evening,” Peter shrugged.

“Oh well, I’m flattered,” Stiles scoffed.

“Fishing for compliments?” Peter all but tsked. Stiles glared at him and pulled a childish face. “And yet, in spite of _that_ , the offer still stands,” Peter said, pursing his lips slightly, sounding outstandingly mocking.

“I-”

“Peter,” Cora interrupted them from out of nowhere, popping up behind them and dropping her hands onto Stiles’ shoulders. “I see you’ve met Stiles. Where’s the Scott portion of you?” she asked, bringing her head around to look at Stiles, her hair draping over his shoulder.

“He’s inside,” Stiles said. “And you know, you wouldn’t be the first person to assume a level of conjoinedness.”

“I’d call it co-dependancy over conjoined,” Cora clarified. “He’s talking to Kira? Cute little Asian?”

“You called it,” Stiles agreed.

“Co-dependant or Kira?”

“On both counts.”

“I’m so good,” Cora sing-songed happily.

“Well. I see you’re in good hands, Stiles. I’ll be heading off,” Peter interjected, standing and buttoning his suit coat. “Stiles, it was a pleasure. Cora, tell the others I said goodnight.”

Cora reached up to kiss Peter on the cheek and Stiles gave him a little wave, not quite sure if he felt disappointed by the interruption or relieved as Peter walked away. Stiles watched him go, and felt Cora watching him.

“Peter is my uncle,” Cora said, apropos of nothing. “I love him, but he’s… problematic.”

“Isn’t family always?” Stiles asked.

Cora laughed, and sat in the spot Peter had just vacated. “You have _no_ ideal. But Peter is maybe more problematic than most.”

“It would’ve just been sex,” Stiles shrugged.

“Wow, overshare,” Cora groaned, waving her hand around as though she could make the words go away. “And here I thought you had good taste.”

“Your uncle is a super attractive dude,” Stiles said. “I feel like this bar is populated by hot people. Is there some kind of rule??”

“Let me guess. Boyd?”

“When he smiles, it’s a thing of beauty,” Stiles sighed.

“Derek?”

“I… don’t know who that is?”

“Scowl and stubble.”

“Oh! Oh… Derek. Huh. Yeah, he’s… I don’t have the words to do him justice, and my vocabulary is _extensive_ I’ll have you know. Even his unrelenting creepy stare and the fact he looks like my existence personally offends him doesn’t diminish his… absolute perfection.”

“He noticed you?”

“ _Not_ in a good way,” Stiles replied, shaking his head. Cora pursed her lips at him and frowned.

“He’s my brother,” Cora said.

“Your family genetics are insane,” Stiles informed her. “Like probably the best that have ever existed. You should all be studied for science or something.”

“Thanks,” Cora drawled dryly. She took Stiles’ near empty beer from him and finished it off. “Come on. I want to say hi to Erica and I bet Scott and Kira are making big cutesy cow eyes at each other or something equally gross.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “You nailed it.” He followed Cora inside, and let her drag him off to the bar with a hand wrapped around his wrist. He looked over to Scott, and saw his bro was engrossed in a conversation with Kira, and yep, there were the cutesy cow eyes.

“I think Scott found his plus-one,” Cora said, leaning into Stiles’ side.

“I’m destined to be forever alone,” Stiles faux-sighed, exaggerating the slump in his shoulders.

“Well,” Cora drawled slowly, leaning against the bar. “I’m sure Peter would happily join you,” she grinned.

“A night of sex with him I could deal with, but two weeks in Italy? No thanks,” Stiles said, watching Erica approach.

“You’re having sex with Peter?” she asked, leaning in close and smiling with devilish delight.

“Well no, thanks to Cora’s interruption,” Stiles said.

“You were gonna say yes?” Cora asked sharply, disbelief on her face.

“Maybe? I don’t know. Probably not, no. But we’ll never know now, will we?”

“Are you disappointed about that?” Erica asked, grinning.

“You are all _very_ intrusive,” Stiles said wonderingly. Cora and Erica just looked at him, waiting. “No, I’m not disappointed,” Stiles huffed. “I don’t go home with ridiculously smooth dudes who make me feel slightly uncomfortable and… obstinate.”

“Is obstinate a synonym for Stiles?” Cora asked innocently.

Stiles pulled a face at her, and was gratified that she pulled one right back. It’s like any semblance of maturity was shed the second she stepped off the Dram&Rabbit property.

“Dude!” Scott came crashing over, bumping into Stiles’ shoulder, and wrapping an arm around him. “Kira says she’ll come to the wedding,” Scott exclaimed, his face a picture of happiness.

“Hey buddy, that’s awesome! She seems great,” Stiles said, honestly happy for Scott.

“She’s _so_ great Stiles. She’s going to come to our place tomorrow and we can sort out details then,” Scott grinned, dropping his head to rest on Stiles’ shoulder.

“You about ready to go home then man?”

“Yep. I’ll just say bye to Kira,” Scott nearly skipped off, trailing little clouds of happiness in his wake. He was like a Disney princess come to life.

“I don’t know if I’ve even seen two people more perfect for each other,” Cora said, sounding awed. Stiles concurred. He’d never thought anyone would top Allison, but she’d had a ruthlessness that had been jarring against all of Scott’s good-naturedness.

Cora demanded Stiles’ number before she let him leave, and Erica scrawled it in the phone book by the bar phone, demanding they return soon. Stiles agreed, fearing for his life if he said no, and half tripped out the door with Scott waxing poetic about Kira. He paused just before he crossed the threshold, but didn’t turn around. He knew Stubbly McRageface - Derek - was watching him though. He palpably _felt_ it, but he wasn’t about to search the man out. He carried on walking, and refused to get himself all turned around because of the creepy guy with the stubble.

Who just so happened to be hotter than the sun.

Yep, Stiles was screwed.


	2. Two

The day had started out pretty damn perfectly. It was one of those early Spring days when the heat was just beginning to unfurl, and the sun was bright and dazzling. Even an 8am wake-up hadn’t put a damper on Stiles’ mood, and he stretched out in his bed with a noisy hum of contentedness, feeling particularly well rested. He wiggled his toes, and kicked his legs until they were poking out of his scrunched up blanket, and groped around for his phone on his bedside table. Lydia had texted Stiles informing him she would be expecting his call no later than 10pm her time - so roughly 1pm Stiles’s time - and he better not be late.

He figured he should probably get a move on, and rolled out of bed with a big yawn, scratching at his unruly hair as he padded to the bathroom and shoved his dry toothbrush in his mouth whilst he pawed at the shower taps. He left it to heat up and went about brushing his teeth, scraping at his tongue and gurgling mouthwash whilst he kicked off his boxers, making a pee pitstop en route to the shower. He washed his hair with some of Scott’s shampoo and conditioner, making a mental note to buy some of his own and stop being a shitty housemate, but at least he used his own shower gel to even things up a bit. Less than 10 minutes later, he was making his way back to his room and roughly drying his hair with a towel, draping it over his desk chair when he was done so it wouldn’t get too musty and stinky because bachelor or not, he had some basic housekeeping skills.

Kira was due over at some point today, so Stiles left one of the nicer coffee blends they had out on the countertop by the coffee pot, in hopes that Scott would get the hint and at least make her a nice coffee, because God knows they had nothing by way of decent snacks to share. They were way overdue a grocery run at this point. He made their regular shitty morning blend for now though, and sipped from his favourite mug, with the perfect gentle curves to it that fit in his hands and just so happened to be the exact colour of this one yellow sweater his mom had loved best, and yanked a plain white t-shirt on thinking it would be a good undershirt if they wanted him to try on his dress shirt in the store today. He was pretty sure Lydia would insist so they could be certain his tie matched up okay.

Finally, after locating his keys and wallet, Stiles shoved his feet into sneakers and ripped open a slightly stale cereal bar he’d found in a cupboard, and headed out to Roscoe. His baby, because she loved him, started up smoothly, and didn’t stutter once as he got her in gear and drove to the specialist store located about 45 minutes outside of Beacon Hills in a fancy mall that Stiles had only ever shopped at with Lydia. He parked up, his jeep like a glaring outlier amongst the higher end sedans and SUV’s and headed into the mall, surprisingly not garnering any glances at all from the security as he passed. He’d thought for sure that they’d at least side eye him.

Or maybe they were _so_ good at their jobs that he hadn’t even noticed their scrutiny. Impressive.

The store he was looking for was on the third floor, set back from the escalators down a wide passageway with a long fountain in the centre and lush green plants potted intermittently by each pillar that lined the walkway. It was all glass and dark wood inside, with perfect lighting and sales assistants who were clad in suits that fit them like runway models. They sold their products simply by standing there looking all spiffy and suave.

Stiles walked up to the counter, and was immediately met by a young man with dark hair and dark blue eyes, and a pouty mouth. Poured into perfectly pressed charcoal slacks with a pale pink shirt that he somehow pulled off without looking effeminate - even with the pout.

“Hello. My name is Vincent. Can I help you?” he asked, politely enquiring.

“Yeah, I’m here to pick up a suit? Stilinski, is uh. Me,” Stiles said, pointing to himself. “Or it might be under Martin. She’s definitely been in charge of most of it.”

“Martin-Stilinski, yes, that should be ready for you. Are you trying it on today or are the fittings completed?”

“They’re done, but the shirt? Please? So I can pick a tie?” He wasn’t sure why everything was becoming a question, but fancy shops always made him into a bit of a bumbling idiot.

“Not a problem Mr. Stilinski, if you’ll follow me.” Vincent walked off towards an area curtained off by a deep blue drape, and swept it aside for Stiles to walk through. There was a little raised circular platform, with various mirrors that could be rolled and adjusted for a perfect 360 view if need be. Stiles had been up on that platform being assessed and measured and pinned, and he’d gotten an unparalleled view of his own ass in navy slacks that, quite frankly, were doing him _a lot_ of favours.

He’d looked positively perky.

Vincent returned with the suit in a garment bag that he unzipped and set aside, letting Stiles inspect the suit. It was obvious he had no clue what to look for, and he nodded as Vincent explained the alterations made to the ultra-slim fit three piece suit, and how they’d taken in the waist because he’s had to size up thanks to his too-long arms and slightly wide shoulders. Lydia had instructed him to get a suit with a single vent, two buttons, and a slim collar. It was quite a bright navy blue, and he was pairing it with a pale blue shirt, so pale it was almost white. Vincent helped him into the shirt, and busied himself collecting appropriate ties as Stiles buttoned himself up, then helped him into the vest, with a practiced air. Stiles got that buttoned up too, and smoothed his hands down his stomach, feeling trussed up and oddly comfortable all at once.

“If I may?” Vincent asked, stepping up and gesturing to Stiles. He took Stiles’ arm and folded the shirt sleeves with some kind of magic because they looked smooth and smart without awkward bulky bits, and when he was done Stiles looked more stylish than he ever had before. From the waist up at least.

“I need to FaceTime my friend Lydia for her approval,” Stiles told Vincent, pulling out his phone. “She’s going to want to talk to you,” he explained, not sounding even a little apologetic because Lydia and Vincent would be speaking each other’s language.

“Not a problem,” Vincent smiled, stepping outside for a moment. Stiles found Lydia in his contacts and called her. He grinned massively when her face appeared on his screen, frozen for a moment as the long-distance connection settled itself down, and then suddenly there was Lydia, smiling and tilting her head in a movement so familiar that Stiles missed her more than ever watching her do it.

“Stiles,” she greeted, pressing her lips together around a smile. “It’s really good to see you.”

“You too Lyds,” Stiles said, playing with his hair at the front. “I miss you,” he said. “Like, a lot.”

“I miss you too. I can’t wait to see you. Two weeks!”

“Two weeks,” Stiles repeated with a grin.

“And you better show up on the day looking flawless,” Lydia warned, segueing them nicely into the purpose of the call.

“I make no promises, but I’ll try not to embarrass you too much,” Stiles said, poking his head out of the curtain. He beckoned Vincent over. “Lyds, this is Vincent. He’s helping out today, so you guys can work your magic together. I am in your scarily competent hands.”

“Smart boy,” Lydia cooed, “now hand me over. Vincent and I have work to do.”

Stiles passed the phone to Vincent and listened to Lydia request that he show her Stiles from afar, so she could see the colours of the shirt and vest on him.

“Hmm. I like the colour, it’s surprisingly bold Stiles. Good job.”

“He wears it well,” Vincent agreed.

“And it actually looks complete without a tie. Relaxed and stylish,” Lydia said assessingly. “But for this wedding? A tie is a must. At least we know when you inevitably take it off at the reception you’ll still look good. Vincent? Could you add a couple more shirts to the tab please, same cut and sizing, but perhaps one in white and one in - oh! The shirt you’re wearing, that subtly powdery pink. Something like that. Colours that will pair well with that vest, but also stand up on their own.”

“Of course. We can add those on, and they should be in stock. I’ll have a colleague check in a moment.”

“Perfect. Now, for wedding appropriate ties, what do you have to hand?”

Vincent showed Lydia various ties and Stiles fidgeted as they selected six for him to try. The first was a thin tie made of a silken material, with a subtle pattern of diamonds in slightly gradient silvery blues. “I love it,” Lydia declared. “But let’s try the next.” In the end Stiles ended up with the first tie for the wedding, and a matte dark navy tie with small maroon diamonds, also slim and quite textured. “I love it too, but for the pink shirt,” Lydia had decided. “It would work with the white too, so that’s fine. Vincent, were the trousers altered?”

“No, those fit well from the outset, it was just the jacket that was a concern. Mr. Stilinski is not an off the rack shape through the torso.”

“Noted. Could you dig up slacks in the same style, but in a textured grey perhaps? Or maybe something bolder, I think Stiles can do bold. A maroon maybe?”

“I think maroon would look great,” Vincent agreed, handing the phone off to Stiles. “Just give me a few minutes to pull together some pieces,” he said, turning and sailing off out of the dressing room, probably with dollar signs in his eyes.

“Lyds, what are you doing? I can’t afford any of this!” Stiles hissed, aiming for quiet but insistent.

“I know that Stiles, but it’s on my tab, so it’s fine.”

“You can’t pay for all this,” Stiles sighed, slumping in his seat.

“Don’t slouch in expensive clothes Stiles, they’re fitted for a reason. And I can, and will, and _am_ paying for it. It’s not just the wedding, Stiles. You’ll be expected to go to the rehearsal dinner for one, and Francesco will want to have a dinner to meet everyone… just trust me,” Lydia said, settling back in her chair. “So, should I be telling Allison to expect Scott to have a date?”

“Yeah. You should. He’s bringing a plus one, yeah.”

“Well that’s going to be fun. I’m sure they’ll have at least one long lingering look across a dinner table that has the rest of us feeling uncomfortable.”

“Most likely,” Stiles agreed. “But I think Kira might be something, you know? He had the puppy eyes.”

“Oh yay. The puppy eyes. How I missed those,” Lydia said dryly, pursing her lips. “It will be nice though,” she said, expression and voice slightly softer. “To have everyone together again.”

“Is um. Is Jackson there yet?” Stiles asked tentatively. Lydia had been surprisingly broken hearted when Jackson had moved to London. They hadn’t seen each other since then, so the wedding would probably be trying for Lydia too. Not that anyone would ever know, unless they knew her quite as well as Stiles did.

“No, he’ll be arriving shortly after you and Scott. It’ll be good to see him,” Lydia added on after a moment. “Danny is looking forward to it,” she smiled, brushing all her hair over to one side.

“Yeah I bet,” Stiles smiled. Danny was a sweet guy, and had been Stiles first dude on dude kiss when he’d been in the throes of questioning his sexuality. Not necessarily out of attraction rather than proximity, but Danny had been kind and open to helping Stiles out. Yet another reason for Stiles to wonder _how_ Danny had been best friends with a douche like Jackson for so long. “Are you feeling okay about seeing him?” Stiles asked, trying to moderate his tone without sounding too concerned. Lydia would just scoff at that.

“Yeah, I am. I think it’ll be good,” Lydia assured him. She sounded like she meant it.

“I guess it doesn’t hurt that you’re only getting more beautiful and have spent the past few months relaxing in the sun and eating good food,” Stiles said with a cheeky grin.

“I do intend to look fucking fantastic,” Lydia laughed, her green eyes twinkling.

“Obviously,” Stiles agreed.

“Excuse me,” Vincent called out from beyond the curtain. “May I come in?”

“Of course Vincent,” Lydia replied, and once again they were back to business.

Stiles left over an hour later, with three garment bags and an additional bag with dark brown brogues and a matching belt. He loaded his haul into Roscoe, sent off a text to Lydia thanking her for the clothes and insisting she was a Goddess, and headed home with a pitstop at the drive by Starbucks near their apartment to grab himself a sugar laden icy coffee concoction that he more than deserved after so much shopping.

He had _maybe_ forgotten about Kira visiting. He approached their apartment with arms full of his bags and coffee, and stood in the hall and kicked the door repeatedly as he couldn’t knock, calling out “Scooootttttttttttty,” in an obnoxious voice.

Scott opened the door looking incredibly flustered and pulled an annoyed little “oh my God,” face at Stiles’ antics, and just like that, Stiles remembered. “Oh my God I’m sorry,” Stiles mouthed at Scott, schooling his expression into a smile as he swept into the apartment. “Kira, hey, sorry about that. I had no hands free,” Stiles was saying as he walked into their front room, with Scott trailing him. He came to an abrupt stop and Scott walked right into the back of him, sending them both stumbling forward a few steps; Stiles miraculously didn’t drop anything, aside from his jaw.

Because Stubbly McRageface, AKA Derek, AKA creepy staring guy , was sitting in his front room. Starily creepily at him.

From Stiles’ spot on the sofa.

Stiles’ sofa.

In Stiles’ front room.

“I’m just gonna. My room.” Stiles said, lifting his bags and just giving up on constructing full coherent sentences. He wondered exactly how it was that Derek somehow looked _even more_ handsome whilst sitting on Stiles’ sofa? Maybe the incongruity of it all was just tricking Stiles into finding him more attractive or something, but whatever. It was _ridiculous._

He fled the room trailing garment bags and probably dripping condensation, and kicked his door closed.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, taking a sip of his drink. The thick icy sludge required enthusiastic sucking, and it made Stiles’ feel better to have some sugar and caffeine in his system. “Get it together Stilinski,” he said, giving himself a quiet pep-talk around his straw.

He hung up his garment bags on the back of his drawer, and tucked his bag by his dresser, already planning how he was going to transport everything to Italy without creasing it all to hell, because anything was better than facing going back out to the front room right now.

Not that he even understood why Derek made him freak out like this. He’d never even spoken to the guy. He could be a perfectly nice and personable dude, and here Stiles was, hiding out like an idiot.

Steeling himself with a big bracing breath, Stiles opened his door and chewed on his straw for comfort, and walked back out to the front room.

“Uh hey, Kira, how are you?” he asked, walking around to half-sit on the arm of Scott’s chair. “Hey man, I’m Stiles,” he said, reaching over to offer his hand. Derek looked at it for a moment, then reached out to shake. His palm was dry and a warm, grip strong but not overpowering like some kind of alpha-douche. Stiles was mildly surprised by that, then chastised himself for expecting Derek to be an alpha-douche. Even if he kind of looked like an alpha-douche.

“Derek,” Derek said, voice slightly quieter and softer than Stiles had expected. He’d kind of thought Derek would be all growly and gruff, but no. His voice was nice.

“So uh, you’re… Cora’s brother right? And friends with, um, Kira?” Stiles hedged, wondering why Derek was here but not sure if it was okay to ask that outright.

“Yeah,” Derek replied. And that was that. No more by way of explanation.

“Derek’s kind of like my big brother,” Kira said teasingly, nudging Derek with her shoulder. He sighed at that, sounding resigned. “His family took me in, sort of. They look out for me.”

“That’s… nice,” Stiles said carefully.

“Really nice,” Scott agreed, with far more enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm perhaps. Stiles frowned at him, wondering why he was being all sucky-uppy.

“Laura, she’s like my big sister and I guess it makes her nervous? Me going off to another country with someone _she_ doesn’t know, like _at all_. Someone I only just know. Even though I told her that I already know Scott’s a good guy, you know?” Kira said, looking earnest. Stiles blinked at the onslaught of words, and parsed out the meaning with a nod.

“Sure, Scotty’s a great guy. The best,” Stiles said.

“Right?” Kira grinned. Scott grinned back and they both just sat there, smiling at each other for a little while. Derek let out another sigh and this time Stiles wanted to join him.

“So Derek? What brings you here?” Stiles finally asked directly, looking over to Derek. He took a moment to just… look. Derek sat there with his styled hair and his t-shirt stretched all across his chest in the most obscene manner. His eyes were somewhere between hazel and grey, Stiles guessed, managing to be slightly muted and cold, but also warm and rich. They were startling, as he lifted his lids to glance up at Stiles and the light caught them just so. It was like they were pale green - almost golden - ringed with darker green and speckled with brown and grey. Too many colours for one person to have in their eyes, and yet there he sat, watching Stiles as Stiles stared.

Now who was the creepy starer.

Stiles blinked and flinched, then looked at Derek expectantly. “Laura is my older sister. She asked me to come and meet Scott,” Derek said, without much inflection. He was a monosyllabic kind of guy, and Stiles just didn’t understand that. Stiles liked talking, did it often. Was confused by people who didn’t.

“You always do what big sister tells you?” Stiles blurted out, sounding mocking. It was his default setting.

Derek’s eyebrows dropped slightly and he glared at Stiles. “Yes.”

“Alrighty then,” Stiles agreed lightly.

“She um. Laura, she said that I shouldn’t go alone,” Kira said suddenly, giving Stiles a quick smile.

“Meaning?” Stiles said slowly.

“Meaning Derek will come with us dude,” Scott said brightly, as though this was fantastic news.

“To Italy?” Stiles asked. Scott nodded. “For two weeks?” Scott nodded again. “With us?”

“Yeah dude. We have space. You don’t have a plus-one so,” Scott shrugged.

“So Derek would come with us.”

“Yes.” That was from Derek, jaw clenched and glare going strong.

“But why?” Stiles asked. He waved a hand a Derek. “Dude, I mean, it’s pretty obvious this isn’t first choice on your list of fun ways to spend your time. In fact, you look like a root canal would rate higher than this,” Stiles observed, watching Derek purse his mouth in irritation.

“You’re not wrong,” Derek muttered.

“So why?”

“Because Kira can’t just head off across the globe with two strangers. You seem like… adequate, people, but I don’t trust you. And I won’t just trust you with her because you _seem_ nice.”

“Wow that was like. A real sentence. Multiple sentences even,” Stiles said, falling back on sarcasm. It was a very bad, no good habit of his. Derek levelled him a blank, unimpressed look. “Okay but why you? Why not, I don’t know, Cora? Cora is nice.”

Derek scoffed loudly at that. “Right,” he drawled. “Sure you wouldn’t prefer Peter?” he asked archly.

Stiles rolled his eyes and huffed. “I wasn’t gonna go home with him, oh my God.”

“Who’s Peter?” Scott asked with a scrunchy confused face.

“No one,” Stiles replied, not taking his eyes away from Derek. “So, why not Cora?”

“She’s busy with school and work.”

“Oh and you’re a man of leisure?”

“More or less. I can take the time off if it’s important.”

“And this is important?”

“Kira is.”

Stiles chomped on his straw then and sucked at his melting drink because really, it was kind of sweet. Overbearing, definitely, but also sweet. How obviously important Kira was to her friends. Her family.

“So you’re coming with us then,” Stiles sighed.

“Yep.”

“Perfect,” Stiles huffed. “Wait, what if I find a plus-one?”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Derek said with a smirk, eyeballing Stiles.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and shot him a look of disbelief. “Seriously? You know what, just for that, you jackass, _you_ can be my plus one. Yep. You, you brooding stubble-face, are going to be _my_ plus-one. That’s the deal. My condition. If you’re coming with us, then guess what buddy boy. You’re coming _with me._ ”

“No,” Derek said flatly.

“Yep,” Stiles replied, popping the P. “What, you really think you can just show up at a wedding as a total stranger with no reason to be there at all? Really? You think that’s gonna fly?”

Stiles thought he might be having an out of body experience. The words were his, were coming from his mouth in the obnoxiously indignant tone of voice that he reserved for when someone was being particularly stupid, and yet he didn’t _want_ to be saying any of it. He didn’t _want_ Derek as his date. _At all_. And even as he said the words, he knew he wouldn’t be calling Derek’s bluff, because Derek was just the right shade of asshole to take him up on this and make him suffer for it.

Sure enough, Derek huffed and glared at Kira. She shot him an innocent little smile, curling her fingers up on her lap. “Please Derek?” she finally asked, softly.

He looked at her for a moment, eyes searching her face, and finally the tension melted out of him. Somewhat. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it,” Derek said, voice calmer and kinder than Stiles had heard it so far. Of course, he was directing the soft tone at Kira, but even so. It unruffled Stiles’ feathers a little. “I’ll be your date,” Derek said, turning to Stiles.

“Convincingly?” Stiles challenged, still being an asshole just for the sake of it. Whilst crying inside. Loudly.

Derek looked at him for a moment, like he could see right through Stiles and knew how much he was regretting every life choice he had ever made that had led him to that moment in time. Particularly the last few minutes. Those topped the list of big regrettable ‘ _why do people let me open my mouth’_ moments for Stiles.

With an amused glint in his eyes, Derek gave him a sharp smile, baring his teeth, and even though it was the most unfriendly smile Stiles had _ever_ received, it was also kinda breathtaking. “I’ll be _very_ convincing,” Derek said, making the words sound impossibly threatening. Like what, he was going to date Stiles to death or something? What was he even implying? And why was it making Stiles break out into a sweat?

“Fine,” Stiles said primly, wiping his damp hands on his jeans - damp from the condensation from his drink, not from his sweaty, clammy palms, thank you very much. “You’ll need appropriate outfits. Leather and boots aren’t really gonna cut it I’m afraid,” Stiles said with saccharine sweetness.

Derek raised his eyebrows and swept a look over Stiles’ outfit, not even needing to say a word to inform Stiles’ as to how obviously lacking Derek found him.

“Shut up,” Stiles huffed, standing. “This is casual wear.”

“Obviously,” Derek said evenly. And yet Stiles felt judged. So very judged.

“You know, you’re gonna need to act like you actually like me right?” Stiles asked, just to make sure Derek understood.

“I’m aware of that,” Derek replied, standing up from the sofa. Stiles stood too, not wanting to look up at Derek from such a height disadvantage. They weren’t too far off in height actually, maybe not even an inch, which made Stiles puff up a little. Because Derek outdid him just about everywhere else. He was well built, with an aura of power. And he was stupidly handsome. Calm, collected, cool. All the C-words Stiles wasn’t.

Calamitous. Chaotic. Those were the Stiles C-words.

“Kira, we’ll need to go and see Laura, keep her updated,” Derek sighed and tucked his hands in his pockets, pulling out his car keys with one and spinning them absently over his fingers with an impressive display of dexterity. “Stiles… I’ll be in touch,” Derek finally said, turning and walking to the front door.

Scott and Kira both stood, and sort of shuffled on the spot. “I’ll call you,” Scott promised, smiling. Kira nodded, and then lunged forward and kissed Scott on the cheek. He looked so pleased that his cheeks went pink.

“Bye Scott. Bye Stiles,” Kira said, waving as she ran out the apartment after Derek. Stiles slumped down onto the sofa, ignoring how his spot was warm from Derek’s body, and looked up at Scott.

“Stiles-”

“I hate you,” Stiles stated, glaring.

“Bro-”

“No, don’t you bro me right now.”

“Dude. I’m sorry. But Kira’s so great,” Scott said, dripping earnestness. “I really want her to come with me.”

Stiles huffed out an exaggerated sigh.

“And Derek seems okay. Or seemed okay. Before you got here.”

“Oh great, my plus one is an asshole, but hey, it’s okay, he’s only an asshole _to me_.”

“Dude, you were kind of an asshole too,” Scott pointed out.

“Well duh,” Stiles exclaimed. Scott just looked confused. “This is going to be awful,” Stiles decided, staring dejectedly at the carpet.

“Hey, at least he’s hot,” Scott tried.

“There is that I suppose. I do get to tell everyone my plus-one is basically a walking wet-dream.”

“That’s gross, but okay.”

“I’m objectifying,” Stiles scoffed, annoyed with himself. “The upside to this is that I get to be even more of an asshole and objectify him. I suck. This sucks.”

“Yeah, but at least you aren’t going alone?”

“Not sure that’s a good thing right now buddy,” Stiles said honestly.

“I am sorry,” Scott said. Stiles knew if he looked up he’d be hit with a super-mega-whammy dosage of puppy dog eyes. He glanced up and yep. There they were.

“It’s okay dude. I’m being a drama queen. It’s gonna be fun, and hey, maybe it’ll even be fun getting Derek to behave like he’s actually a normal person, and also interested in me. I can totally make him get my drinks and ooh! Maybe I’ll even make him slow dance. It’ll mess with his grumpy bad-boy persona, and I’ll take pictures. Cora and Erica will want pictures. There _has_ to be pictures.”

“See. There’s an upside to everything if you just look hard enough,” Scott grinned.

Stiles wanted to hit him for that.

He didn’t. Obviously.

But he really wanted to.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! I think I already messed up on the whole posting every two days thing! I'm so full of good intentions...

Stiles walked into Scott’s room after hearing a loud thud, with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and toothpaste nearly dribbling out of his mouth. “I think I should probably meet him in a public place,” Stiles grumbled, somewhat incoherently. “Just in case.”

“You’re gonna be spending two weeks sharing a room Stiles. I don’t think public matters anymore,” Scott said, sounding muffled. He backed up on his hands and knees, pulling his head out from under his bed with his missing dress shoe clutched in one hand. He held it aloft with a little victorious wiggle, sitting back on his heels, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I suppose so,” Stiles conceded. “I’m sure he’s not going to kill me or anything, but I should probably let him know dad is the Sheriff anyway.”

Scott gave him a flat look and pointedly didn’t respond. Stiles huffed - sending little flecks of foamy white out in a spray across Scott’s carpet - and walked out to spit his toothpaste in the sink. He gurgled his mouthwash and stomped back in to Scott’s room, glaring as Scott sat in front of his drawers pulling out random clothes in his attempt to pack.

“He’s not going to do anything Stiles, it’s fine. He’s an ass, not like… dangerous,” Scott insisted.

Stiles tugged out his phone and typed out a quick message to Derek, telling him to hurry up and come over soon because they were going for lunch and Stiles didn’t like having to wait for his food.

Derek didn’t bother replying. Big surprise.

“He looks like he could literally rip my head from my body dude,” Stiles said with a frown, flinging himself down on Scott’s bed with a bounce.

“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean he will,” Scott countered, lifting a red shirt to his nose for a tentative sniff. It seemed to pass muster, because he flung it in a pile with the dress shoes that Stiles could only assume was the To Be Packed pile.

“I still don’t see why he has to come with us,” Stiles lamented, sounding petulant.

“So Kira can come,” Scott said sunnily. “I know it’s weird dude, but they’re just protective. And you have to admit, it would be super trusting for her to come along with us alone, all the way to Italy, considering we only met a few days ago.”

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “Logistically, I get it okay. I’m whining for the sake of whining, not because I want your stupid logic. Consider all future complaints of ‘why is Derek coming with us,’ to be rhetorical.”

“Okay, I will no longer be logical. But I will continue to insist that Derek is _not_ going to murder you,” Scott agreed.

“Just you wait. When he kills me because I’ve annoyed him to the point of no return, you’re going to feel really dumb for saying that. In fact, I might make a point of a ghostly visit just so I can say ‘I told you so dude,’ and like, rattle my chains at you or whatever.”

“How about you don’t annoy him then?” Scott asked easily, pausing in his search to look over at Stiles, as though it were that simple.

“What did you _just_ say about being logical Scott?” Stiles asked.

“Sorry. I’ll stop talking,” Scott said around a grin, “but you know I’m right.”

Stiles pulled a face at him and flung his forearm over his eyes, groaning dramatically. He heard Scott snort out a little laugh, and decided to ignore Scott and his mockery, because he just didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later that there was a knock at the door. Just two steady raps, evenly spaced apart. Stiles grumbled to himself and contemplated not answering, but Scott was already clambering up so it wouldn’t do anything but mean Derek would walk in and see Stiles sulking like a child. So he rolled off the bed and waved Scott off, only just dragging his feet as he scuffed his way to the door, yanking it open.

Derek stood there in a white t-shirt with a pair of aviator shades hooked in the collar, tugging it down just enough to ensure that Stiles was aware of the dusting of chest hair Derek had going on. Probably the perfect amount of chest hair, because Derek was annoying like that. His face was set in it’s customary scowl, as Stiles waved a hand with a grandiose flourish to grant him entrance.

He trailed Derek to the front room, and huffed quietly as he saw Derek smile and shake Scott’s hand in greeting, before turning to face Stiles and crossing his arms over his chest, smile turning back into a scowl. His body language literally couldn’t be more blindingly obvious in its dislike of Stiles, and Stiles definitely wasn’t filing away the way Derek’s biceps bulged with the movement for future spank bank material at all. Because that would be _wrong_.

“Pleasure as always Derek,” Stiles greeted, walking over and clapping Derek on one (very firm. So firm.) shoulder, purposefully intruding on his personal space. “What’s say we go get some eats?”

Derek sighed and dropped his arms, lifting one to shove Stiles towards the door again, then splaying it between his shoulders blades to keep him moving with forward momentum, even as Stiles sputtered with outrage and tripped his way to the door. Only once they’d reached it did Derek drop his hand. “I thought you didn’t want to delay being fed,” Derek said flatly, literally without anything by way of inflection. It grated on Stiles’ nerves.

“No need to shove at me dude! Use your words,” he said slowly, enunciating as though Derek needed an example.

“Move it, Stiles,” Derek said back, just as slowly. He raised his eyebrows, making it look like a warning, and Stiles pulled the door open and skittered into the hallway, sans wallet and keys.

“Wait,” he said, trying to turn and head back in to retrieve his stuff, but Derek just kept on moving, forcing Stiles to walk backwards down the hallway. He took up too much damn space in the narrow hallway to be able to skirt around, so Stiles just yelped “fine! You can pay then!” and flung his hands up in defeat.

He ignored the smirk on Derek’s face.

They found themselves in Stiles’ favourite diner, Blue Plate Diner, and were escorted to a booth by Cary. She was Stiles’ favourite and always gave him extra curly fries.

“Hey hun,” she welcomed him, pulling out two menus and handing them over. “Usual?” she asked Stiles, getting out her pad and pen.

“You know it,” Stiles agreed, perusing the menu anyway. “How’s Chip doing?” he asked, folding his hands on top of his menu and looking up at her.

“He’s healing up good,” Cary said with a smile. “Scott took good care of him.” Chip was Cary’s Pug, and he’d sliced up his paw on a walk in the woods.

“Give him a schmacko from me, yeah?”

“Sure thing cutie,” she said with a grin. “So, can I get you a drink?” Cary asked Derek, turning her attention to him. He’d set his sunglasses on the table and been frowning down at the menu.

“Grapefruit juice, please,” he said, sounding soft and polite.

“Sure you need anything making you more sour?” Stiles asked innocently. Cary shook her head and Derek glared.

“Anything to eat?” Cary prompted.

“What’s good?” Derek asked, once again sounding engaging and… nice. He looked up at Cary and smiled, and Stiles literally saw the exact moment she was blinded by his beauty. He couldn’t really blame her.

Cary blinked, and then smiled back at Derek, like a reflex action. “Our pancakes are good if you want something sweet. Or the bacon cheeseburger for savoury,” she said slightly breathily.

“I’ll take the pancakes, please. With fresh fruit on the side?”

“Sure, of course,” Cary agreed, nodding. “I’ll just fix that up for you. Um, you want mint or strawberry today Stiles?” she asked, almost as an afterthought. Stiles thought he might be insulted.

“Strawberry please Cary,” Stiles said, slightly flat.

Cary bustled off and Derek levelled his stare back to Stiles.

“So if you can behave like a socially adjusted human being, why do I get the monosyllabic Derek special?” Stiles asked, genuinely curious about it.

“You annoy me,” Derek said flatly, not even trying to spare Stiles’ feelings.

“Dude, you literally gave me a death stare the second you saw me. I didn’t even speak!”

“You still annoyed me.”

“By existing?!”

“Yes,” Derek agreed, sitting back. He did this thing where he made direct and unwavering eye contact, and it made Stiles want to fidget and hide under the table.

“You’re an ass,” Stiles informed him. Derek smirked, obviously well aware of his own ass-dom. “Fine,” Stiles sighed loudly, rubbing his face with his hand. “How do we do this then huh? How are we supposed to act like you’re my willing and consenting date when I _obviously_ annoy you so much? You can’t look like you want to rip my throat out with your teeth every time you’re in a room with me.”

Derek lifted one shoulder and looked entirely unconcerned. “I can do that.”

“Prove it,” Stiles countered, goading him.

Derek relaxed into a slouch and blinked at Stiles, not saying a word.

“Awesome. Dead silence. You’re definitely selling it there big guy, good job.”

“Shut up,” Derek said flatly, still just… looking, at Stiles.

“Even better, you sweet-talker, you.”

“Are you even capable of not talking?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.

“When the occasion calls for it, yes,” Stiles replied, glancing up as Cary approached and placed Derek’s juice and Stiles’ milkshake in front of them respectively.

“Food’ll be on it’s way soon,” she informed them, heading off to deal with another table.

Stiles leaned forward with his elbows on the table and sucked heartily at his straw, swallowing a mouthful of sweet strawberry goodness with a happy hum. These milkshakes were straight up divine. He looked up and Derek was still staring, but now he had one hand curled around his glass, as though he’d been about to take a sip but had stalled out or something. “So come on then dude,” Stiles said, the straw touching his bottom lip. He mouthed it back in between his lips and spoke around it. “Prove you can act like a real date.” He busied himself with more milkshake, and bent the straw at the tip, pressing the hole closed so he had to suck harder.

He startled and banged his knee against the underside of the table when he felt Derek’s foot hooking around his ankle. “Footsie dude, seriously?” he coughed, wiping any possible stray milkshake drops from his mouth. His heart was tripping up thanks to the shock.

Derek looked at him steadily, and a slow, predatory smirk spread across his lips as he leaned forward to mirror Stiles, elbows on the table. “You missed a spot,” he said, voice low and intimate. He reached out and dragged his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip, making Stiles jolt at the contact, and took his hand back to slip his thumb between his own lips.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed, a little annoyed but erring dangerously close to being more turned on than he’d ever been before, in his whole damn life. “I said date me, not make an amateur porno,” Stiles chastised, trying to sound at least a little like he wasn’t perilously close to panting.

Derek gave him another one of those dangerous smiles, eyes dark and slipping down to look at Stiles’ slightly gaping mouth. “This is how I date,” he said, voice dripping with intent.

Stiles’ nostrils flared as he breathed in deep, opening his mouth to reply just as Cary showed up, breaking the moment. Derek sat back, nonchalant as anything, as Stiles squirmed into a slouch, dredging up a friendly smile from somewhere and thanking Cary as she put down his burger and fries, and Derek’s pancakes. “You suck,” he hissed at Derek, pushing aside his milkshake and grabbing the ketchup bottle and giving it a violent upside down shake.

“Anyone who was looking would have thought we were on a date,” Derek pointed out, jabbing a piece of orange onto his fork and eating it. He licked his lips, not even trying to be seductive, but Stiles was all too aware of how fucking attractive he was right now, and it made him angry. He shoved a few curly fries in his mouth and chewed aggressively.

“Fine, how do you want to do this?” Derek asked, cutting into his pancakes with his fork. He dipped them in syrup and paused, looking up at Stiles expectantly.

“I want you to not pretend to eyefuck me in a room full of my friends,” Stiles said flatly.

“Noted. No pretend eyefucking,” Derek said easily, steadily working his way through his food.

“Be… I don’t know. A gentleman. We’re going to be in Europe, so just… be, I don’t know. Classy.”

“Okay, classy,” Derek repeated, seeming much more agreeable now he was eating. Stiles made a mental note of that.

“It’ll be a new thing. We’ll just say when Scott met Kira, I met you, we’ve been hanging out, we like each other… keep it simple,” Stiles suggested.

“If it’s that new, I’m going to be eyefucking you Stiles,” Derek said. “Maybe not quite so blatantly, but you want it to look like I’m attracted to you right?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess?”

“Do you often date people who aren’t attracted to you?”

“No, but—”

“So I’ll sometimes look at you like I want you. Or I’ll touch you. And you can’t flinch every time I do,” Derek stated. He really was better at this than Stiles.

To be fair, Stiles hadn’t had much by way of dating practice in a while. Because he was _not_ counting the Adam debacle.

“I say a lot of awkward stuff,” Stiles blurted, feeling like he was trying to warn Derek of all his faults, which in turn made him feel kind of shitty about himself. “And I ramble, and sometimes go off on tangents. It’s worse if I don’t take my meds though, but I have a pretty strict schedule for those, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“ADHD?” Derek inquired.

“Uh yeah. Good call. I guess I’m kind of obvious huh,” Stiles said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head, fluffing up his messily styled hair.

Derek shrugged and cut a forkful of pancakes, dipping them in syrup. “You want to try?” he asked, offering the fork and successfully changing the subject as though picking up on the waves of discomfort Stiles felt like he was radiating.

Stiles reached out to take the fork, but Derek moved it back a bit, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not a child,” Stiles mumbled, leaning forward and eating the food Derek was offering. He’d had the pancakes here before of course, but not in a while. “S’good,” he said as he chewed.

Derek shook his head at him and sat back, eating another slice of orange.

“You know, my plus one could just be a friend,” Stiles suggested, throwing the option out there.

“If I’m just a friend, it seems like I’m taking advantage of both you and the bride’s hospitality,” Derek said, sounding uncomfortable.

“Which you are,” Stiles pointed out.

“No, I’m keeping Kira safe,” Derek argued, scowling again. “She’s my priority here Stiles.”

“She’s an adult, Derek. All grown up and everything,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yeah but she’s special,” Derek insisted. “You wouldn’t understand,” he finally said, dismissing the line of conversation.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles relented with a sigh. “So we’ll be dating, and we’ll play the happy new couple, you can keep an eye on Kira and I can not be alone at the wedding.”

“So it’s win/win,” Derek said, smirking.

“And yet somehow I feel like I’m not winning anything in this,” Stiles groused, going back to drinking his melty milkshake.

They lapsed into silence for a while, before Derek leaned forward, frowning as though he was thinking of something important. “I’ve wanted to ask… are you attracted to my uncle?” Derek asked haltingly, as though the words tasted bad.

“Uh. Yes?” Stiles answered.

“Are you asking me or answering me?” Derek asked.

“Answering you? I mean, I’m answering you,” Stiles said, tonguing the straw to one side of his mouth. “He’s an attractive guy,” Stiles said, stating the obvious.

Derek pulled a little unhappy looking face, likely skeeved out by Stiles perving on his uncle, like Cora had been, but hey, he was only human. With eyes.

“All right then,” Derek said, settling back in his seat. “What do I need to pack?” he asked, moving on abruptly to another topic.

“Well,” Stiles said shifting in his seat and sitting up. “That’s a fun question,” he said flatly. “Lydia, the maid of honour, is both _terrifying_ and stylish as hell. She has ridiculous standards, and imposes them with all the might of an iron-fisted sartorial dictator.”

“Joy.”

“And considering Italy is fashion capital of the Universe, and the groom is a bajillionaire or something, the answer to your oh-so-innocent question, my friend, is _with care_. You pack with care. Everything should be fitted, stylish but not ostentatious - and those are her exact words -, smart, and most importantly, not boring. Or maybe those are just her instructions for me, because I’m pretty sure she just warned Scott to wear a suit that at least fit him, so I don’t know. Perhaps I’m the only one who will suffer her wrath if I wear a clashing tie and shirt,” Stiles shrugged. “But I wouldn’t risk it.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Derek shrugged.

“I’m guessing Cora and Erica will be in charge of your clothing anyway,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek made a little sound of agreement, “and Laura,” he added.

“She’s your other sister?” Stiles asked.

“The oldest,” Derek agreed. “She’s the family matriarch, for lack of a better term,” he said with a slight smile.

“You’re surrounded by crazy strong women dude.”

A fleeting look of something like sadness passed over Derek’s face before he nodded. “Yeah, I am,” he said softly, sounding perhaps more real than Stiles had heard him sound yet.

“You should be able to handle Lydia and Allison just fine then,” Stiles said with a smile, steering the conversation on. He didn’t know Derek well enough to comment on the moment, particularly seeing as this was the first time they’d interacted without hostility.

“Allison is the bride?” Derek asked.

“Oh, yeah. I guess you never got the whole story. Allison and Scott were high school sweethearts. First love, big drama, the whole enchilada. They broke up after a lot of on-again, off-again, and somehow stayed friends. I think a part of Scott expected them to end up together. I think, actually, we all kind of thought that,” he mused, looking up to notice the return of The Scowl. “No, no, dude. Not that he’s like _pining,_ or anything. It was just us all being dramatic teenagers. He’s totally into Kira, more so than I’ve seen him be into anyone since Allison actually, so no. It isn’t a weird… revenge, thing. He just didn’t want to show up alone, but if he did, it would be okay. He wouldn’t just, you know, take _anyone_ ,” Stiles insisted, maybe lying just a little at the end. A while lie. A tiny one. Derek scowled even more at that, and his shoulders looked tense. “Dude, I completely promise, he likes Kira, a lot. For real. No subterfuge. That’s just us,” he joked weakly. “Anyway, Allison is getting married, obviously. To a rich Italian dude, at his holiday home just outside Florence. Which is where we will all be heading. You and me and Scotty and Kira. Who he likes, and feels privileged and honoured to be taking.”

“Stop calling me dude,” Derek bit out, obviously done with the whole not being hostile portion of the day.

Stiles sighed and looked around the diner, catching Cary’s eye and gesturing for the bill, deciding he’d had enough Derek for now. Derek paid in stoic silence, though he managed a smile for Cary, and at least held the door open for Stiles as they headed out.

They walked down the street in silence for a while, until it got to be too much for Stiles; he’d never dealt well with silence. “Seriously?” he flailed a hand, stopping and turning to face Derek. “You have this much of a bug up your butt because the bride is Scott’s ex? Because Kira knows. She’s well informed and up to date on the sitch, and she’s not pouting about it.”

“I’m not pouting,” Derek gritted out, glaring at Stiles.

“You are _pouting_ ,” Stiles insisted.

“She doesn’t deserve to be second best,” Derek said firmly.

“And she _isn’t_. At all,” Stiles replied, just as firm.

Derek stared at him silently, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, then huffed out a breath. He stepped closer to Stiles, completely invading his personal space, and Stiles automatically retreated a step, and then another until he found a wall at his back and Derek still coming at him from the front. Derek splayed a hand on his chest, just over his sternum, and held him in place.

Predictably, Stiles twitched at the touch.

Derek raised his eyebrows, looking slightly mocking - he had an amazing amount of eyebrow related facial expressions Stiles was coming to realise. “Why do you flinch when I touch you?” Derek asked, not moving or giving up any space. “You’re very tactile with Scott.”

“Yeah but, Scott’s my bro.”

Derek’s stupid eyebrows went all judgy again, and Stiles swallowed. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been in… dating proximity, with anyone,” Stiles said, chewing on his lip. “My last date? I talked about erotic cannibalism,” he mumbled.

Derek’s fingers dug into his chest a little, like his hand spasmed, and then Derek was laughing. A full-on laugh, his head tipped down and hiding his actual expression from view, but it was still kind of wonderful. He laughed quietly, but his whole body shook, shoulders moving with each chuff of amusement. It made Stiles grin, feeling less like a dork.

“You didn’t,” Derek finally said, having gotten ahold of himself. He’d dropped his hand and was now a respectable distance from Stiles.

“I really did,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Derek shook his head slightly, like he both couldn’t believe Stiles, and yet wasn’t surprised. “Well, it’ll take more than a vore conversation to send me running,” Derek said, smiling.

Possibly, for just a moment, Stiles wished they were actually going together as a date. “Well, if you can put up with my very annoying existence, you can put up with anything,” Stiles said, shooting for levity and pretty much hitting the mark.

“Exactly,” Derek agreed. He walked off then, without so much as a farewell, heading across the street to where Stiles watched him climb into a sleek black car, driving off without pause. Stiles blinked as he watched the car get smaller in the distance, and shook himself, mentally chastising himself for staring moonily at the hot dude in the hot car who was _pretending_ to date him.

When he got to his building door, he remembered he didn’t have his keys, and rang the buzzer for Scott. Who wasn’t home.

“Jackass,” Stiles hissed, meaning Derek, and tried all the other buzzers until one of the neighbours let him in the building. He sat down by their front door, long legs kicked out, and pulled out his phone.

— _I’m locked outside, you asshat. Thanks for that._

He pulled up Tumblr on his phone, and began browsing using the shitty app.

_— Not my fault you didn’t bring your keys._

He glared at Derek’s reply, as though he’d be able to somehow feel the power of Stiles’ glare through the phone.

— _You literally shoved me out the door!_

Derek didn’t bother replying to that, which annoyed Stiles. At least that felt familiar, and oddly comfortable. He settled in to wait for Scott, hoping he wouldn’t be gone to long, and grateful Scott didn’t have a shift at the animal clinic today. He switched to Instagram, smiling as he scrolled through the pictures Lydia and everyone in Italy had been uploading. It all looked so beautiful. Even with the prospect of spending two weeks in close proximity to Derek looming over his head, he was still excited to head out there. And he couldn’t help but click on the comment section of Lydia’s latest picture and write:

 **Stilinskinator24** : So guess who has a daaaaaaaaate…

And even thought it must have been at least midnight there, within seconds came the responses:

 **Lyds.M** : You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone?!

 **AllyArcher** : Oh my God who are you bringing??


	4. Four

The first hiccup happened when they were boarding the flight, and Kira and Scott wanted to sit together. Which wasn’t unexpected or anything, but Stiles just hadn’t really considered that he’d be stuck sitting next to Derek on a long haul flight. It was 10 hours from San Fransisco International direct to Heathrow, and then another hour or so from London to Florence.

That meant roughly 11 hours sitting next to Derek, who wasn’t the greatest flyer it seemed. He took the aisle seat, which was fine by Stiles who wanted to look out the window when they got up high, and his knuckles were white with how hard he gripped the arm rests. His body was thrumming with tension, and he didn’t even acknowledge when Stiles spoke to him. His eyes were staring blankly ahead at the empty screen on the back of the seat in front, and he ignored the entire safety demo - Stiles paid rapt attention, and craned his neck so he could find the nearest exit, just in case - and breathed harshly through his nose when the cabin crew began their final check.

“Dude, here, have candy,” Stiles prodded, holding out a wrapped boiled sweet, like the ones grandmothers the world over seemed to favour. “I read that it’ll help with popping ears and altitude.”

Derek took the candy without comment and put it in his mouth. He crunched it immediately, and then swallowed. Stiles rolled his eyes and sat back. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when your ears are being all crazy,” Stiles said, grabbing a handful of the candies and passing them back to Scott and Kira.

“So um. Should I try and distract you, or just sit quietly?” Stiles finally asked, smiling absently as the cabin crew member walked past and glanced at their seat belts. “I don’t know you well enough to know which route will work best, but I suspect you might try and throw me out the door if I bug you whilst we’re in the air.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Derek nearly snarled, quiet, but voice laced with tension.

“Okay, this is me, shutting up,” Stiles nodded immediately, miming zipping up his lips. He sat back and pulled out the in-flight magazine, flipping through and reading about the movie and TV options, the radio options, the games… he read it all. Through the rumbling of the plane moving to its spot on the runway. To the sudden uptick in engine noise as it prepared to speed up. As the plane sped down the tarmac, increasing in speed until Stiles felt like he was being pressed back against his seat.

He sighed and tentatively placed his hand over Derek’s as the plane began to lift off, felt gratified when Derek immediately turned his hand and held on to Stiles’, gripping tight enough to hurt. Stiles didn’t comment on it, just let his hand be held and used his lap and his other hand to continue on reading the magazine quietly. He felt Derek flinch when they hit a small pocket of turbulence, so he began slowly stroking his thumb in a slow, repetitive motion against Derek’s hand, trying to offer a modicum of comfort. Sometimes repetition and rhythm helped with anxiety Stiles knew, so he just aimed for that. He wiggled his jaw so his ears popped, and sucked on his candy, not looking at Derek so he wouldn’t feel like his anxiety was being witnessed, just kept on holding on until after they’d levelled out and the seat-belt lights had been off for a while, and Derek finally felt calm enough to let go.

The second hiccup hit when, about 8 hours in, Stiles woke up with his face mashed against Derek’s shoulder, jerked away, and realised he’d drooled on Derek to boot. Perhaps in deference to Stiles having not mentioned his anxiety during take off, Derek didn’t mention the shoulder sleeping, or the drool, but Stiles still felt kind of embarrassed about it. He wiped at Derek’s shoulder, but the cotton of the grey henley was damp through and darker in that little patch, so Stiles sat back and just said, “um.”

Nothing else. Just “um.”

“It’s fine,” Derek replied. It was the only thing he said the entire flight.

Hiccup three was the worst of them all.

Hiccup three was the kind of thing Stiles hadn’t even remotely considered a possibility.

Hiccup three happened when they arrived in Florence, and Stiles _had_ been expecting a degree of weirdness, to be fair. Vacationing with a dude you barely knew, who barely tolerated you was always bound to be weird, and add in the whole pretending to be into each other thing (not that Stiles was pretending all that much), and it was gonna be at least a little weird. They landed early afternoon, and Chris Argent, Allison's dad, was the one coming to pick them up. Chris had never liked Scott much, by very nature of Scott being Allison's first boyfriend and first… well, everything.

Stiles could understand it, mostly.

So, a degree of awkward was expected, as they collected their bags from the carousel (Derek heaved them all off the belt with efficiency and caught the eye of quite a few of their fellow passengers.) and made their way through customs, heading through the _nothing to declare_ doors and out into the arrivals area.

And there was Chris, still rugged with icy blue eyes, but with more grey hairs than he’d had the last time Stiles had seen him. His hands were in his pockets and his posture somewhat relaxed, and it looked like the time he’d spent in the sun here had agreed with him. Stiles veered over, having been the first to spot him, with a hand on Derek’s back to push him in the right direction.

Hiccup three happened, when Chris looked up and saw Derek, and when Derek looked up and saw Chris. Immediately, Derek halted, his entire body going rigid and absolutely immovable. Stiles stumbled and frowned, looking to Chris, who was now tense too, his hands curled in loose fists by his sides and a hard look on his face.

It was, in a word, intimidating. And suddenly Stiles had much more respect for teenage Scott, dealing with Chris’ dislike.

“Derek?” Stiles said quietly, confused.

“What the fuck is this?” Derek asked, his voice low and dangerous. It made Stiles’ breath catch, and he kind of wanted to run away.

Scott and Kira had continued on, oblivious to the weird atmosphere, until Derek reached out a hand and grabbed Kira by the upper arm, firm but not hurting her. She halted and turned around, but the smile on her face dropped away when she looked at him.

“Derek,” she breathed, stepping up to him. She held his wrist and stared up at him. “It’s okay Derek, we’re okay.”

“He’s an Argent,” Derek snarled lowly.

A look of fear washed over Kira’s face and she froze, like a deer in headlights.

“Hey guys, our ride is over there,” Scott said, waving to Chris. “Come on.”

“He’s the bride’s dad,” Stiles offered slowly, trying to offer up some kind of information that might ease the tension, even though he had no clue what caused it. Derek knew Allison's family, he had caught on to that much, and it looked like the blood there was bad.

“Allison Argent,” Derek said slowly, his nostrils flaring. He tilted his head suddenly, and his scowl deepened. “Go on Kira,” he said finally, after a strange pause. Stiles looked to Chris, and he looked like he was mumbling to himself, still staring at Derek.

Kira didn’t let go immediately, but looked up at Derek with a steady expression. “Are we safe?” she asked, and waited for his answer.

They both ignored Stiles, who stood beside them completely lost. “For now,” Derek replied, cryptically, but it was enough for Kira. She nodded once, looking nothing like the sweet giggling girl and everything like a warrior steeling herself for battle, and turned to follow Scott, offering him a small smile and looping her arm through his.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked quietly, resuming walking when Derek did. Derek shook his head and kept his eyes on Chris, not even blinking. “Derek?” Stiles pushed, wanting answers.

“Did you bring me here for a reason Stiles?” Derek asked abruptly. “Just tell me if you did.”

“What? No. No, I… You wanted to come along for Kira, and I had a plus-one. That’s it.”

“Fine,” Derek said shortly. “We _need_ to sell this,” he added on, almost as an afterthought, but a very intense one. He lapsed into silence again as they walked up to Chris.

“Hale,” Chris greeted Derek, giving him a nod. He didn’t offer his hand, and nor did Derek.

“Argent,” Derek said, reverting back to the lack of inflection, and the mask-like blank face. He folded his arms across his chest, and had drawn up to full height.

“You’re Stilinski’s date?”

Derek nodded.

“My daughter was never involved,” Chris said then, voice brooking no argument. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

Derek stared at the other man, assessing him. Finally he nodded. Chris watched him for a moment longer, and Derek unfolded his arms and reached down to take Stiles’ hand in his, lacing their fingers. He looked at Chris almost challengingly, and Stiles felt like he was watching some kind of Alpha-man showdown that he definitely didn’t understand. But was somehow involved in.

“Come on, I’m parked this way,” Chris said, turning and striding out of the terminal building. Stiles grabbed his rolling case with his spare hand, and let Derek lead him outside, pretty certain now wasn’t the time to start questioning Derek. Scott was frowning and Kira looked nervous as they followed along, rolling their own bags. They reached the car, a black SUV, true to Argent form, and loaded in their bags. Stiles nudged Scott to sit in the front seat, figuring that would be the least awkward arrangement, and hefted himself into the car after Kira.

“Allison will be happy to see you Scott, Stiles,” Chris said once they were on the road, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah? We’re looking forward to seeing her too, right dude?” Scott replied, twisting around to see Stiles.

“Yup, totally. And Lydia and Danny,” Stiles added on. “When does Jackson arrive?”

“He arrives tomorrow I think,” Chris said, “but Danny will be on airport duty for that. They won’t need the bigger car, so it’ll be fine.”

“What other family of yours is here?” Derek asked. His voice was sharp, Stiles could see Chris’ eyes narrow in the wing mirror.

“Just me and Allison,” Chris finally said. “Her mom and I divorced shortly before we moved back to Beacon Hills,” Chris said, sounding as though he were saying much more than just his words.

“Not in touch with your sister anymore then?” Derek said, baiting Chris and implying he knew the Argent family well.

“No,” Chris said, voice clipped.

The silence stretched thin, so Stiles started asking questions about the city, chattering about how he’d like to see Galileo’s mummified finger in the science museum, and that one Piazza with the amazing statues including the one of Perseus with the head of Medusa. He’d seen the pictures online whilst in Florence research mode, and sure, he thought it looked pretty cool, but mostly he was talking to fill the silence. Scott engaged though, agreeing enthusiastically with Stiles and acting as though the possibility of seeing a mummified finger was the coolest thing _ever_ , and had Stiles mentioned that he loved Scott? Because he did. So much.

They bypassed the city itself, and headed out through lush countryside, finally pulling up to a large gate that opened as they approached, the SUV crunching its way down a gravelled driveway and rounding a curve to show a beautiful sprawling mansion type building. It was what Lydia referred to as the main villa.

It was a rectangular building, longer than it was tall, with a smooth cream facade, and exposed stonework at the corners. The roof was low pitched and a rich terracotta colour that was picked up in the trim of the villa. The centre of the building had what looked like a clock tower or something, with one big round window. There were trimmed hedges and flowers lining the driveway, and beyond the villa were rolling hills of greenery. It was possibly the most breathtaking place Stiles had ever seen in person, and part of him immediately wanted to try and recreate it in The Sims.

“This is the main house,” Chris said, pausing so they could take a look. “But Allison had suggested you all be down in the guest villas, where Lydia and Danny have been staying. They should be down there now. Allison will be back this evening.” He drove them further down the gravel drive, looping around to a series of squat, single story buildings, that formed a loose U shape around a pool. There were no obstructions to the beautiful vistas behind, and the decor theme of cream and terracotta had been extended here, so the buildings looked like they belonged together.

Chris parked up, and almost before they’d even stopped moving, Stiles scrabbled out of the car and caught an armful of Lydia. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, her hair getting tangled up in them both as they clung, Stiles spinning her around as she laughed. He finally dropped her down to her feet, face almost hurting from grinning, and let her squish his cheeks in between her hands.

“God I missed you,” Lydia said, sounding almost disbelieving. “Who would have ever thought it?”

“All part of my ten year plan,” Stiles laughed, face squished. Lydia smirked and shook her head at him, giving him a peck on his cheek, and moved off to greet Scott.

“Danny, my man,” Stiles said, giving him one of those weird bro-hugs where they clapped hands first.

“Stilinski, how’s it going?” Danny asked, his tan even deeper thanks to the Italian summer, and his dimples just as cute as ever. He stepped in close and leaned up to say quietly to Stiles, “who’s the guy?”

Stiles grinned and stood beside Danny, both of them watching Derek pull out the bags from the trunk of the car. His back muscles were all flexy and pronounced through his shirt as he moved. “That’s my date,” Stiles said proudly, even if it wasn’t real.

“Woah. Nice going,” Danny breathed, nudging Stiles and smirking.

“I’m irresistible,” Stiles said modestly.

“And yet both Lydia and I very much managed to resist you,” Danny joked.

“Hey. You both succumbed to my wiles, just in unexpected ways,” Stiles argued.

“Actually. You’re not wrong. I missed you too man,” Danny said with a smile.

Stiles bumped his shoulder and agreed, before moving to intercept Lydia as she approached Derek. She moved smoothly round him, so Stiles spun on the spot and trotted after her.

“Derek, I presume?” she said cooly.

“I am,” he said as he placed the last case on the ground and closed the trunk with a slam. Chris waved through the window and drove off, and Stiles thought Derek maybe relaxed a little. “You must be Lydia,” Derek said, smiling a little. It wasn’t the megawatt blinding grin Stiles knew he was capable of, but then that wouldn’t work on a girl like Lydia anyway. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I’ve heard almost nothing about you,” Lydia said, pursing her lips.

“Well Stiles and I haven’t known each other too long yet,” Derek said smoothly. “I think we’re still feeling each other out,” he added, looking Stiles’ over with a little smirk.

Stiles rolled his eyes and stood beside Derek, holding steady as Derek slipped an arm around his waist. They had talked about dropping the pretence around Lydia, but Stiles assumed that between the behaviour now and Derek’s comment in the airport that that was no longer the case.

Lydia gave them both an amused look, and settled her gaze on Derek. “If you hurt him, I’ll castrate you with an eyelash curler,” she said chirpily, with a closed lipped smile and a cutesy tilt of her hair.

Derek froze and Stiles sputtered. “Jesus Lydia!” he cried out, crossing his own legs and barely resisting the urge to cup his own groin. She smirked at him, and Stiles knew exactly what was coming.

“A vague disclaimer is nobody’s friend,” they both recited together, grinning like idiots. Lydia turned wish a swish of strawberry blonde hair, and bounced off to join Danny by the pool, where they’d already set up camp a while ago by the looks of things.

“Buffy quotes,” Stiles explained to Derek’s confused and concerned face. “We discovered a mutual love for vampire slayage, and I think Willow Rosenberg is the only other redhead allowed to occupy space in my heart alongside Lyds.”

“Right, sure,” Derek said slowly, sceptically.

“Come on big guy, lets get the bags in and settle down. I wanna see our room!” Stiles grabbed his wheely bag and dragged it across the uneven gravel.

“You’re in the end one,” Lydia called over, waving her hand at the squat building that made up one leg of the U. Stiles shrugged and redirected his course, tugging the case and creating unsightly grooves in the gravel until Derek huffed and picked up his case for him, carrying it in one hand with his own in the other.

Obviously, the muscles were _not_ just for show.

“You’d better have packed appropriately Stiles,” Lydia called out, not looking up from her magazine.

“Just like you and Vincent told me, I promise,” Stiles called back, opening up the door and ushering Derek in. He closed it behind them and sagged against it, taking a moment for a breather. “I don’t know about you dude, but I’m thinking these next two weeks are gonna be _tiring.”_

Derek stood just inside the room, and frowned down at his booted feet. “Yeah. I think you’re right,” he sighed, shrugging out of his leather coat. It was too damn hot for leather in this place anyway, and Stiles didn’t understand how he’d kept it on for so long.

“Are you gonna tell me what that was about, with Chris?” Stiles asked, watching Derek roll his neck and move to sit in one of the chairs by a small table. “I mean, do I need to know?”

Derek sighed wearily, resting his head in his hand, elbow on the table top. “Not right now. I just… I need a minute,” he said, sounding impossibly tired.

Stiles could feel the jet lag nipping at his own heels, but he didn’t want to sleep immediately and mess up his sleeping pattern whilst they were here. “How about I make us coffee and we can sit out back,” he suggested, pointing to the small patio area outside of two sliding doors around the back of the small villa. “Relax without all the people? They won’t mind,” he added.

“Sounds good,” Derek said, subdued. He opened up the doors and let in fresh air, leaning against the frame and looking out over the patio. To the left, were the hills, and up ahead were clustered plants and short trees, presumably to provide privacy to those in the pool villas. There was a round wrought iron and mosaic tile table with matching chairs out there, and two sun loungers with padding that was a light coffee colour, matching the ones around the pool.

Stiles filled the cafetiere with coffee, leaving the plunger up, and put it on a tray he scrounged up, along with milk - yes the place was stocked because Allison was an amazing hostess - and some sugar and cups.

Derek walked over and took the tray from Stiles, heading out to the table outside, and Stiles trailed him quietly, mouth cracking open in an obnoxiously large yawn that made his whole face feel stretched. He was pretty sure he just bared his gullet to the world.

Stiles kicked off his sneakers and itched for his sweats, but he was too lazy to dig them out and change, so he just sat in his jeans and watched as Derek prepared the coffees.

Stiles’ first sip was too damn hot and burnt his tongue. He yelped but went back for another sip, even though the tip of his tongue was now officially numb. He figured that mean sip two wouldn’t hurt as much right.

“Seriously?” Derek said, reaching out and pushing Stiles hand with the cup back down to the table.

“I’m dangerously caffeine deprived,” Stiles whined, “I might _die._ ”

“You’re just jet lagged,” Derek replied, scratching at his stubble. It was longer and softer looking after the hours spent travelling.

“It’s the worst,” Stiles insisted, feeling all out of sorts and slightly dramatic.

“Have a nap?”

“I don’t want to get all wonky and end up roaming around all night,” Stiles shrugged.

“Just nap. 20 minutes, once you’ve finished your coffee. I’ll wake you.”

Stiles grumbled, and tried his coffee again, and this time found it pretty much palatable. The numb tongue might have helped. They sat quietly, both drinking the ridiculously good coffee, and Stiles found his eyes slipping closed, the sun warming his face. He needed sunblock, and to not be in his jeans, and also to be lying down, but it was still pretty close to perfect. Stiles finished off his coffee and slumped in his chair, thinking he could nap right there, but Derek urged him up and inside. Stiles collapsed face down on the bed, barely taking in any details of the room, and was out within seconds.

He woke up to Derek shaking his shoulder, and was convinced all he’d done was blink. It felt like no time had passed and he’d been cheated out of a nap. Stiles wriggled on to his back and star-fished on the huge bed, staring at the textured ceiling with grainy eyes and a sense of unreality.

“That did not help,” he stated, his voice feeling scratchy. His tongue felt claggy and the aftertaste of coffee in his mouth, along with stale breath, combined to taste like ass.

Derek had brought in their cases, so Stiles wiggled off the bed and opened his up, halfheartedly pawing through it to find his dopp bag and throwing the garment bags on the bed, so he’d have to hang them up. He also grabbed his thin sweats and a threadbare tee that was so faded it looked almost salmon pink instead of red now, but he deserved comfort after his arduous trek across the globe.He padded into the bathroom and showered, washing the stale airplane air off himself, and brushing his teeth vigourously. He felt something close to normal afterwards, and made his way out to find Derek.

He was sitting in the main room on the sofa, dressed in loose basketball shorts and a t-shirt.

“Whatcha reading?” Stiles asked, yawning again.

“A Clockwork Orange,” Derek said, lifting the book to show the cover. “Cora loves this book, and I understand why. It’s very her.”

“Viddy well,” Stiles saluted, shuffling to the fridge for a bottle of water. He felt exceptionally dehydrated.

“Kira and Scott are both out by the pool,” Derek said absently, and Stiles nodded, cracking open the bottle and drinking it in great big gulps.

“Are they perky?”

“Very.”

“Ugh,” Stiles grumped.

“You don’t travel well,” Derek observed, smirking a little.

“Shut up,” Stiles said with no heat. “I’m gonna go and lie outside like a slug. If I’m in the same vicinity as them, it totally counts as hanging out. You coming with?”

“Okay,” Derek said finally.

“Bring your book,” Stiles said, opening the front door and shuffling out on his bare feet. The tiles were hot though, and soon had him hopping his way over to the loungers and near diving on one to spare his poor feet. “I’m just giving up on today,” Stiles wailed, rolling onto his front and dangling his arms off the sides. “I declare today a non-day, and will resume functioning tomorrow.”

“Stop complaining Stilinski,” Lydia commanded.

“But I’m tired,” Stiles said.

“I don’t care.”

“And I’m too hot”

“You’re from California. How are you too hot here?”

“It’s different heat.”

“You’re an idiot,” Lydia finally said.

He peeked open his eyes and watched Derek leave their villa, walking over with his book in one hand and a bottle of suntan lotion in the other. “Snow White, you’re gonna need this,” he said, tapping Stiles on the back of his calf with the bottle as he passed by. Stiles grumbled and could almost feel Derek rolling his eyes. He flipped his head over so he was facing Derek as he sat down on the lounger, not settling back and, you know, lounging, but sitting on the side of it, feet in sneakers and planted firmly on the ground.

Derek was terrible at relaxing. He’d looked way more relaxed when they’d been inside. He literally looked like he was waiting for someone to jump out of the trees and attack. 

Stiles made another grumbling sound and twisted so he was facing up, and heaved himself up with an exaggerated noise. “Nope, cancelling today. I’m going inside, and I’m probably going to sleep for about a hundred hours.” He stretched, and scratched at his belly. “Derek, I need help! Carry me!”

Derek narrowed his eyes, looking momentarily murderous even though Stiles was very thoughtfully giving him an out from a situation he obviously wasn’t comfortable in, but stood in front of Stiles and raised an eyebrow anyway.

“Turn around,” Stiles said, making a spinny motion with his finger. “Piggy back ride!”

Derek gave him a smirk, and bent down and lifted Stiles in a fireman carry, chuffing out a little laugh when Stiles let out an absolutely undignified squawking sound, immediately demanding to be let down. He heard his “ _friends_ ” all laughing and giggling as Derek walked Stiles back inside. Stiles gave up his fruitless protesting and let his limbs hang loose and dejected. At least he got to stare at Derek’s ass in those shorts as he walked. Close up and 3D.

And it was a damn good view, he wasn’t gonna lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of posting these without edits, so if there's little slip ups, do let me know? I'm trying to stick to the two-day rule, but class has started up again so my poor brain is getting it's butt kicked!


	5. Five

Against all odds, Stiles, Scott, and Kira had managed to stay awake until a reasonable hour, and not entirely throw their sleeping patterns into disarray whilst they were on vacation. Stiles wasn’t sure about Derek. He honestly wasn’t convinced he’d even slept, though the lack of bags under his eyes did suggest some kind of rest had taken place. Definitely not in the one lone bed they had to share though.

They’d reconvened outside this morning, along with Lydia, to loosely plan their day, including heading up to the main house to see Allison. Danny would be back with Jackson soon, and Stiles had thought Lydia might be a little nervous about it.

She’d informed him that she wouldn’t do anything so pedestrian as pine for her ex-boyfriend.

Derek came out to join them with two cups of coffee. He handed one off to Stiles, and his eyes lingered on him for a little while, taking in Stiles’ sleep rumpled appearance no doubt. He’d woken up after something close to ten hours of sleep, and had stumbled outside upon spotting Scott through the window. He was in his loosest t-shirt, an old Beacon Hills Sheriff Department one that almost hung off his shoulder, his hair was probably a charming mix of both flat and untameably sticky-uppy, _and_ he’d likely drooled on himself at some point during the night. Scott didn’t look in any better shape than Stiles, but Kira had that adorable sleepy-girl look with her hair loosely braided, and she’d lit up when Derek approached. She was curled against Scott’s side, and they both blinked into their coffee mugs slowly, brains still coming back online.

Derek, was completely put together. Stubble trimmed, white t-shirt clean, hair styled. Stiles mumbled thanks and took his coffee, tentatively poking the tip of his tongue against the liquid before he took a sip, not wanting to repeat the scalding of yesterday.

“I left it to cool a while first,” Derek said.

Stiles grinned at him and took a big gulp. It was a perfect temperature.

“We can each put together a quick breakfast, or head up to the main house where they’ll have plenty of food,” Lydia said, resting her weight back on one foot. She had a thin sage green robe on, and her hair was in a long tumble down her back, spilling over her shoulders.

“Let’s head up there,” Derek said, putting his hand in his pocket. Jeans, even in the heat. “You guys can see Allison,” he continued, taking a sip. Stiles nodded his agreement and gave a thumbs up, too busy inhaling coffee aroma to speak.

“Der, can we talk first?” Kira asked, looking to Stiles and Derek’s villa. Derek nodded and Kira looped her arm through his, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as they walked away.

“I’mma shower at yours dude,” Stiles announced, heading towards Scott’s place. “I can use your stuff, it’s okay,” he assured Scott with a wink. 

“Like you don’t at home anyway,” Scott grumbled. Stiles grinned and shrugged, leaving Scott and Lydia in the courtyard. He showered and yanked his clothes back on, and knocked lightly at the door to his villa, wondering if Kira and Derek were done. The courtyard around the pool was empty so he wasn’t sure.

Kira opened the door, and smiled. “Hey Stiles, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to kick you out of your room.”

“Hey I don’t mind. Means I get to steal Scotty’s awesome shampoo.”

“The way he tells it, you always do.”

Stiles slapped a hand to his chest in outrage, “we’re bros! We _share_.”

“Ohh, is that what it’s called?” Kira grinned, slipping around Stiles. He walked in and found Derek leaning against the counter in the small kitchenette, texting on his phone with a look of intense concentration. Stiles bypassed him and went to grab fresh clothes, tugging on some Lydia-approved grey shorts, and a pale blue tee. His hand twitched towards a dark blue plaid shirt, but he restrained himself, reasoning he’d get overheated anyway.

“So uh, did you sleep okay?” Stiles asked, walking back out to the main room.

Derek didn’t look up from his phone, “yeah, it was fine.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” Stiles said, bobbing his head. He put his hands in his pockets and swayed on the spot, scrunching his face up. “Where’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Sofa,” Derek replied, still not looking up. He let out a gruff sigh abruptly and shoved his phone in his pocket, settling back against the counter with his arms crossed. He looked annoyed.

“Comfy?”

“It was fine, Stiles.”

“Okay. Um. Just, you know. There’s a bed.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you can sleep in there. If you want.”

Derek looked at Stiles consideringly, and let his arms drop. “Fine.”

“So uh… Things okay with Kira?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, back to being monosyllabic huh?” Stiles pushed.

Derek glared at him.

“Or just don’t speak _at all_ , sure, that works.”

“You’re being annoying,” Derek stated flatly.

“Well so are you!” Stiles exclaimed, flailing his arms out. Well aware of his own childishness, but it was like getting blood from a stone with Derek this morning, and Stiles didn’t know him enough to know when to push or back off yet. “And you’d been doing so well with using your words Derek.”

Derek did the eyebrow communication thing again, this time looking at Stiles like he was an idiot.

“I swear your eyebrows are more communicative than you,” Stiles said, scowling.

“My eyebrows?” Derek asked, reaching up to smooth his forefinger over one impressive brow.

“Yes. For all that you’re Mr look-at-me-scowl, hear-me-grunt, they do most of the talking for you.”

Derek huffed out what could be the beginnings of amusement. “My eyebrows don’t talk.”

“Yes, they do. In fact, give me a few more hours with them, and I bet we’ll be conducting _entire_ _conversations_.”

Derek pulled a face, like ‘I can’t believe I’m having this discussion,’ and Stiles smirked happily. “Right now, you’re wondering how you’re even having this conversation,” Stiles announced smugly. Derek immediately schooled his face into the blank mask look, and Stiles pretty much crowed. “See, told you so!”

“Yes, well done Stiles, you can read basic facial expressions. You’re now the developmental equivalent of a baby.”

“You’re just jealous of my burgeoning relationship with your eyebrows,” Stiles informed him.

Derek scoffed and raised an aforementioned eyebrow, “are you giving my eyebrows autonomy?”

“They gave themselves autonomy dude,” Stiles replied, grinning.

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek sighed.

“You aren’t at bro-status yet,” Stiles explained.

“Never call me bro,” Derek near growled.

Stiles felt the smirk spreading on his face and was powerless to stop it. Derek sighed, loudly.

“Why not, _bro?”_

“You’re a child,” Derek stated. He strode outside, and Stiles followed hot on his heels, smiling happily to himself. Annoying Derek was like poking at a surprisingly toothless, grumpy bear, and it was so much fun!

They arrived up at the main house shortly after that, a collective all standing hesitantly on the doorstep, not sure if they should just walk on it. Lydia wasn’t with them, having told them to head on up without her, so they weren’t all that sure what to do. Stiles took the initiative after some awkward shuffling deliberation though, and pushed open the heavy door hollering, “Ally! Where are you?!”

“Oh my God!” came Allison's screeched reply, accompanied with her running down the stairs with an enviably spryness. She ran into Stiles’ arms. “It’s so good to see you,” she declared, squeezing him tighter than she looked like she should be able to. Her dimples were out in full force, and she looked happier than Stiles could remember seeing her in a long while.

“Scott!” she exclaimed, grabbing him up for a hug too. With less squeezing and more… tenderness, perhaps. She stepped back and held his hands, giving him a soft smile before letting go. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “All of you,” she added, smiling broadly and looking to Kira and Derek expectantly.

“This is Kira,” Scott introduced, motioning to a slightly shy Kira.

She smiled quickly and offered a small wave. “Thank you so much for letting us come to your wedding,” Kira said, looping her arm through Derek’s and leaning into his side. Stiles wondered if she reached for Derek for security; it seemed that way. “It’s so nice of you.”

“You’re so very welcome,” Allison said sincerely, “I’m just so happy to meet you!”

“Me too,” Kira said, sounding like she meant it. “Scott’s told me lots about you.”

“Which puts me at a disadvantage because I haven’t had the chance to catch up with Scotty in a while,” Allison said, eyes sliding over to Scott. “But. It does mean I get to know all about you in person,” she grinned. She looked over at Derek and gave him a tentative smile.

“This is Derek,” Stiles interjected, bumping against his shoulder.

“Hi Derek,” Allison greeted, giving Stiles a little sly look. She was impressed. Stiles sidled closer to Derek and took his hand, fumbling for a moment as he tried to lace their fingers, not used to that kind of casual contact, particularly considering Derek’s sour mood this morning. “Come on, we have an insane amount of food in the kitchen,” she said, leading them down a hallway.

Derek kept Stiles’ hand in his, but wasn’t paying him any attention, his focus rapt on the villa, eyes scanning the rooms they passed. He kind of looked like he was sniffing too.

He was a strangely vigilant guy, Stiles had noticed, recalling how he’d eyeballed everyone and everything at the airport.

“Pretty swank,” Stiles commented as they reached the kitchen, a large room with lots of sunlight and an island in the centre.

“It’s been in Francesco’s family for generations now,” Allison said, opening up the fridge. She scanned the contents and pulled out a plate of fresh cut fruit and set it on the island. She grabbed a bowl of chopped tomatoes with olive oil and basil on them, and slices of thick bread, adding that to the island too. “Help yourselves,” she instructed, adding pastries to the pile. “Do you want juice? Coffee?”

“Both please,” Stiles answered, piling a plate up with various foods. He smiled when Derek poured himself orange juice and put fruit on his plate along with a glazed pastry. He had such a sweet tooth. “So Francesco,” Stiles began, swallowing his mouthful of croissant. “When do we meet the mysterious man?” he waggled his eyebrows.

“Tonight,” Allison replied, going a little dreamy-eyed. “We’re thinking of heading out for dinner. The vineyard thathis brother owns isn’t too far from here, and they have an amazing restaurant there. The chef makes the most delicious pasta. It’s where we’ll be having most of the wedding type stuff too.”

“That sounds awesome,” Scott enthused, looking to Kira for confirmation.

“It really does,” she said.

“It’s so beautiful there,” Allison continued, “and we’ll be the only guests, which is pretty cool. We can do a tour there too, and a tasting if you want?”

“Free wine? Sounds good to me,” Stiles said.

“You’re not supposed to swallow it Stiles,” Allison said, smirking.

“I _really_ want to make a dirty joke, but damn it, it’s too easy,” Stiles replied. Allison laughed and leaned against the counter.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she smiled, looking down at the granite top. “It’s been so stressful,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I think dad actually wishes I’d just eloped to Vegas or something.”

“As if I’d let you do that,” Lydia said as she walked in the kitchen. She looked _amazing_. A floaty dark blue sundress with bright yellow flowers, and her hair was in a loose braid. She didn’t have much make up on from the looks of things, but her cheeks and lips looked lightly flushed pink. Allison gave her a knowing look, and Lydia smirked in response. “Well, I have to remind him of what he’s missing out on don’t I?”

Stiles chuckled and poked through the fruit bowl with his fork, finding the grapes. He bit into one, and it was like a burst of sugar on his tongue. “Oh my God,” he groaned, stabbing another and holding it out for Derek. “Dude,” he insisted, wiggling the fork. “ _Bro._ ”

Derek sighed, just a little, and ate the grape, giving Stiles an approving little nod. “Right?” Stiles enthused.

“It’s good,” Derek agreed, smiling a little as Stiles offered him another.

“And here I thought Scott was typically the nauseatingly cute one,” Lydia quipped, eyeing Stiles and Derek over the rim of her juice. Stiles pulled a face at her and went back to scarfing down his food, glad they were evidently selling the whole couple thing, but also feeling weirdly… lonely, maybe.

Derek just ducked his head, feigning bashful perfectly. But he picked out all the best grapes, and put them on Stiles’ plate throughout breakfast, and it made Stiles’ chest do weird flippy feeling things, and he kind of wanted Derek to stop, because it just _wasn’t fair_.

Allison joined them back down at the pool after breakfast, all of them opting for a day of laziness after all the travel yesterday. Derek seemed much more at ease following breakfast. It was like scoping out the main house had calmed his tension a little, and his smiles seemed to come a little easier.

They arrived at the villas to find Danny’s door wide open, and within seconds of them being there Jackson came strolling out in salmon pink shorts and boat shoes. He looked annoyingly put together, and smiled widely at Allison, still as attractive as ever.

Ugh.

Allison squealed and hugged him tight, and Jackson looked so genuinely pleased to see her that Stiles wondered if maybe his time in London had somehow made him less douchy.

“Wow Stilinski,” Jackson drawled when he spotted him. “You actually don’t look like you got dressed in the dark for once.”

Nope. Still a douche.

“Well Lydia is something of a genius,” Stiles said lightly, putting his hands in his pockets.

Jackson smiled slightly, more of a little twitch, but it looked _almost_ fond. He turned and looked at Lydia and they both seemed to drink in the sight of each other. “You look good,” Jackson said, giving her what was probably the softest smile he could muster.

Lydia’s lips parted, and she shook her hair back, giving him a smirk. “Of course I do,” she said. Jackson laughed easily, and they moved together in sync, arms slipping around each other with familiarity and ease. Stiles had envied them so much once, had been unbearably jealous of Jackson, but right now all he felt was sad that they weren’t together anymore. Now, as Jackson brought up a hand to cup the back of Lydia’s head, as she turned to lean her forehead against his neck, Stiles realised how much he wanted that again for them both.

Yes, even for Jackson.

Stiles slipped away with the others, leaving Jackson and Lydia to have their reunion, and went to dig out his swimming shorts. He’d had a metric-ton of body issues as a teenager, and though he’d mostly gotten over those with his burgeoning adulthood, being around his high school friends meant he succumbed to his insecurities and left on his t-shirt.

“Don’t forget lotion,” Derek said absently as they passed each other in the main room, Derek moving to the bedroom to change Stiles presumed.

“Yes Mom,” Stiles snarked, grabbing the bottle and shaking some out. He slathered it on his arms, the back of his neck, tips of his ears, and then over his face, working it into his skin and grimacing at the greasy texture. He looked shiny and sticky, and he felt it too.

“What about the rest of you?” Derek asked when he came back in the room, wearing light grey swimming shorts with a pale blue trim, and what Stiles guessed was the same white t-shirt as before.

“I won’t burn through my shirt dude,” Stiles said, waving Derek off.

“That’s not actually true. Besides, you don’t swim?” Derek asked.

“When the occasion calls for it,” Stiles replied, shoving his Mets baseball cap on his head. “Like, in case of danger of drowning. Anyway, what about you? I notice a distinct lack of greasiness on you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Derek dismissed. He put on his shades, and grinned. “I’ve been out in the sun once or twice in my life before. Looks like you haven’t,” he smirked as he walked outside.

“Jackass,” Stiles mumbled, following after him. He flung himself down on a lounger and kicked his flip-flops off, and glared at Danny and Scott as they both cannonballed into the pool, all tanned and toned and looking like they belonged in a freaking Sean Cody video. And then he grimaced, cursing his treacherous brain for putting _that_ image of Scott in his head, even for just a second.

Kira and Allison soon joined them and they all played around, splashing and grinning wildly. Eventually the two girls relaxed against the side of the pool, legs kicking and drifting in the water, chatting excitedly about something or other, but seeming to get on. Danny pulled himself out of the pool, and pushed his hair back out, rivulets of water trailing down his skin, and his abs were so fucking ripped that the water droplets actually converged to slip down the indents of his stomach. Stiles grunted and diverted his attention to his phone, feeling sixteen and lanky in the boys locker room all over again.

Not that Scott was particularly built or anything, but he was definitely in better shape than Stiles, and had all that glowing honeyed skin, unlike pale, mole-ridden, Stiles who would probably blind them all if he took off his shirt. At least Derek was still wearing his. It was like some kind of awkward t-shirt wearing solidarity, even though Derek probably had no clue how self-conscious Stiles was feeling, and was likely just wearing his own because he preferred it that way or something. But still. Stiles appreciated it anyway.

By afternoon Stiles woke up from a mini-nap and was getting hungry and bored of sitting still, so he ambled into the villa and found Derek making sandwiches. “Here,” he said, pushing a plate towards Stiles. It was just cheese and ham, but Stiles wolfed it down happily, and patted his stomach after. Derek watched him thoughtfully as he slowly ate his own sandwich.

“Dude, I’m so bored,” Stiles announced.

Derek sighed forcefully.

“Oops. Sorry. I mean _bro_ , I’m so bored!” Stiles amended. Derek looked thoroughly unimpressed and turned his back on Stiles, putting their plates in the sink. “Derekkkkk,” Stiles whined, walking over and head butting Derek between the shoulder blades. He left his head there, rubbing his forehead against Derek’s back, and they both froze. They didn’t really touch, at all, when they were alone. Aside from the one incident on the airplane.

Stiles pressed his lips together and slowly retreated, putting space between them, frustrated as he recognised his own stupid, predictable pattern. This was how it always happened. He met someone, or, you know, saw them from a distance or whatever, and decided ‘hey, they’re an attractive person, my eyes like looking at them,’ and so he looks. Then he doesn’t stop looking, and he get’s weirdly invested, and he pines, and he starts attributing meaning to stupid little gestures of nothing, like ‘oh Lydia looked impressed by my answer in Math today,’ or ‘oh look, Derek is giving me the yummy grapes.’

He could literally see himself standing on the precipice of an _insane_ crush, and his toes were already hanging over the edge.

Fuck.

This time the difference being that their forced proximity was going to make it infinitely harder for Stiles to not go tumbling down the stupid rabbit hole.

“So, I’m gonna go bug Scotty,” Stiles said, edging towards the door. He was making it weird. He knew he was making it weird, and Derek’s face informed him he was making it weird, and yet he kept edging back and making it weird.

“Fine,” Derek said, nodding slowly. By which point Stiles had pretty much already turned and skedaddled.

He tried to get his head on straight and recalibrate, before he had to go get changed for the evening. He was a pro at internal pep talks, and he recited to himself, “this isn’t real, Derek’s a jackass, he’s out of your league, don’t make an ass of yourself,” over and over as he walked back to their shared villa, having killed some time attempting to play soccer with Scott. They hadn’t had a clue what they were doing and they both sucked, but it was fun anyway.

Stiles didn’t immediately see Derek when he went back to change, so he hightailed it to the bathroom and showered off the dregs of suntan lotion and sweat on his skin from a day in the sun, and wrapped one of the ridiculously big towels around his hips. He padded out barefoot, leaving damp footprints marking his path, and opened up one of the hanging garment bags, figuring now was probably the time to start busting out the slacks.

“Hey,” Derek said quietly, from over by the doorway. Stiles startled and banged his elbow on the dresser as he spun around, grabbing the towel tighter around himself.

“Jesus,” Stiles breathed, heart hammering in his chest. Derek looked amused, but thankfully didn’t comment on Stiles’ flailing. He did, however, run his eyes down Stiles’ bare torso, though his expression didn’t change. His nostrils flared, and mouth tightened a little, but there was no discernible expression or anything, and Stiles felt like he’d failed in his quest to master conversing with Derek though his eyebrows alone, because right now they were giving him _nothing_.

And God, he wished they would.

He wished Derek would at least look a little bit interested, instead of perhaps vaguely amused. “Figured I should start at least attempting to look smart,” Stiles explained, turning his back and pulling out the grey slacks. He didn’t feel up to trying to pull off the maroon ones today.

“So that applies to me too,” Derek said, moving over to his suitcase.

“Probably for the best,” Stiles said, stiltedly. He refused to turn around while he could hear Derek still in the room, because he was feeling understandably weird about being essentially naked in front of Derek, and his chest and neck were going a splotchy embarrassed pink.

He wilted when he heard the bathroom door close, letting out a breath he’d barely noticed he’d been holding, rubbed the flat of his palm against his forehead in frustration. He got dressed in the pink shirt and slacks whilst Derek was in the shower, and headed out to the main room when he heard the water stop, grabbing his little pot of hair wax on the way. No way could he handle seeing a towel clad Derek, and even though he’d taken clothes into the bathroom with him, the risk was still there. So Stiles skedaddled. He styled his hair in the mirror by the front door, and played around with the top few buttons of his shirt, doing them up and then undoing one, then two, then back up to one.

“Two looks best,” Derek said behind him, once again startling Stiles.

“Oh.My.God!” Stiles said loudly. He turned on Derek and glared. “You need to make some goddamn noise when you walk, dude, seriously.”

“Or you need to learn to take note of your surroundings,” Derek suggested.

“I’m gonna put a frickin’ bell on you,” Stiles threatened, turning back around and messing with his sleeves. He couldn’t get the same sleek, neat folds that Vincent had managed.

“Here,” Derek said, from much closer. He turned Stiles with a hand on his shoulder, and fixed each of his sleeves. Stiles stared intently at the little dip at the base of Derek’s throat and made a show of looking grumpy.

“I can dress myself,” he complained, fidgeting with the sleeves once Derek released his arms.

“Evidently,” Derek said, stepping away. He slipped his own shirt on, a black shirt with a really subtle small grey geometric print, and left it loose over his undershirt for now.

“What does that even mean? Was that sarcasm? Because we seriously need to work on your intonation if it was,” Stiles sniffed, smoothing down the front of his shirt.

“It means,” Derek said slowly, waiting for Stiles to look up at him. “You look good,” he finished, voice steady.

Stiles opened his mouth soundlessly, and then swallowed. “Thanks,” he said, forcing nonchalance. “You too,” he added. He guessed maybe Derek had picked up on his increasingly self-conscious vibes throughout the day after all.

There was a knock at the door, and Stiles opened it whilst Derek was buttoning his shirt and tucking it in. Lydia cocked her head at Stiles and made an approving sound. “Good colours on you,” she said, patting him on the stomach.

“Well, you and Vincent know best,” Stiles said.

“We do, don’t we?” Lydia agreed. She looked at Derek and her lips curled up into a small smile.

“Wow dude, you just got the Lydia Martin seal of approval,” Stiles joked, mouth a little dry as he looked at Derek. “You look…”

The lines of the shirt skimmed Derek’s torso perfectly, and the pattern was subtle but made his outfit into something memorable. His forearms were strong and tanned beneath the rolled sleeves, and the trousers were just tight enough to hint at the muscles in his thighs when he moved. Stiles just knew his ass would look phenomenal.

“…amazing.”

But to top it off, the cherry on the cake so to speak, was the little blush that coloured the tops of Derek’s ears at the compliment. The way he relaxed slightly when he had their approval. Stiles wondered if he was imagining it, but it made him think maybe Derek wasn’t quite as unaffected and confident as he seemed.

“Well boys, shall we?” Lydia said, ushering them outside. Derek placed his hand on Stiles’ lower back as they walked outside to meet the others, all dressed up and looking more coiffed than Stiles had seen them since senior prom. He fidgeted at the touch, the pressure of Derek’s hand on him, but smiled and joked as they all piled into the two waiting cars, internal pep-talk running overtime.

… _this isn’t real, Derek’s a jackass, he’s out of your league, don’t make an ass of yourself_ …


	6. Six

Because this was Stiles’ life, the issue of sharing a bed with Derek became fraught with awkwardness and anxiety on Stiles’ part. At one point, he genuinely thought Derek was going to get up and go sleep on the sofa, just to escape from Stiles’ fidgeting.

The evening had been a good one. The vineyard was gorgeous, and Francesco’s brother, Cecco, and his wife Carina had threaded tiny white fairy lights around the patio where the dining table was set up, a big rectangular thing with deep green and crisp white linens. Francesco was a handsome man, of course, but he was friendly and welcoming, laughed easily and often, and looked at Allison as though she’d hung the moon. He was slightly more reserved than his brother; Cecco was loud, and he kept conversation flowing with ease, his wife smiling indulgently and chastising him when he became too raucous. She was the quietest of the three, calm and steady. Stiles liked her immediately, as she led them around the vineyards and talked in depth about the wines and the grapes. She made a relatively dry topic into something interesting, simply with the force of her own passion.

Derek had tortured Stiles with casual touches all evening, and Stiles decided he didn’t know what was worse. The asshat version of Derek from before they’d arrived in Italy, all scowls and obnoxious behaviour, or this softer version who was attentive to Stiles without being overwhelming. The fact he knew Derek was capable of both, biting sarcasm _and_ sweetness, all bundled up in a super hot package, was killing Stiles.

Killing him.

He wasn’t even being dramatic about it. Really, he wasn’t. They’d gotten back after a night of playing the new couple still learning each other, and both had quietly set about getting ready for bed. Derek had let Stiles use the bathroom first, brushing his teeth and changing into his sleep clothes with efficiency, fatigue dragging at his limbs.When Stiles emerged he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of Derek’s bare arms, and the definition of his torso through the clingy material of the vest he had on. And somehow, by some miracle, Derek’s ass looked even better in sweatpants than in his dress slacks. Stiles didn’t know that was even possible!

He clambered into the bed, keeping himself so close to the side he was almost at risk of falling out, and mashed his face into the pillow, tucking one arm under it. He felt so body slammed, but his brain was all racing about like a hamster on a wheel. Derek came out a few minutes later, and hovered by the side of the bed. Probably feeling awkward at how Stiles was hugging the edge of the bed like Derek had the plague or something. His body language definitely wasn’t welcoming Derek into the shared space, that’s for sure.

“Just get in,” Stiles mumbled, half into his pillow.

Derek did, slipping into the covers without jostling Stiles too much, and reached up to turn off the lights, a switch located conveniently beside the bed like in a hotel. “Goodnight Stiles,” Derek said, body relaxing into the mattress.

That was when it struck Stiles that they were sleeping together. _All night_. And what if Stiles like… sprawled on him? Or elbowed him in the face? Or clung to him like an octopus? Or, oh God, what if Stiles woke up hard? Morning wood was something he was very well acquainted with, and what if it happened when he woke up next to Derek? He seriously considered building a little pillow wall between them, to prevent any accidental clinging or boner poking, but dismissed that as ridiculous. _He_ didn’t think it was, he thought it was a perfectly viable plan, but he could just picture Derek’s judgy little face judging him if he suggested it.

“Stiles,” Derek said tiredly. “Go to sleep,” he ordered.

“I am,” Stiles insisted. “Look at me, going to sleep, yaaaaaaawn.”

Derek audibly sighed, and Stiles felt him shift, but he didn’t respond. Stiles lay there, fretting, and rolled onto his back, wiggling around so he was occupying the same space he’d been lying in. The bed had seemed so huge before, like Stiles could literally stretch out his limbs and still not take up all the available space, but he swore it had shrunk while they’d been out.

Because he was pretty sure he could feel the body heat radiating from Derek, even with at least a foot of space between them. Maybe it was his muscle mass or something. Like it meant he had a higher metabolism, which in turn made his body run a little hotter. Is that how it worked? Stiles was pretty sure that’s how it worked.

“I can _hear_ you thinking,” Derek said abruptly. Stiles had genuinely thought he was asleep and twitched in surprise, nearly falling out of the bed. Derek didn’t move a muscle as Stiles pulled himself fully onto the bed, even though it meant laying closer to Derek.

Stiles twisted onto his stomach and kicked one leg out from under the covers, shuffling around because his feet were too hot.

Audible sigh number 2 from Derek.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles mumbled. “I’m sleeping now,” he promised, holding still. He ran through some meditation exercises he’d once read when he was younger, hoping it might help with his ADHD, and then some breathing ones he’d used for his anxiety, and finally, he managed to fall asleep.

But of course, _because this was Stiles’ life_ , he woke up with his head on Derek’s shoulder, and an arm slung over his waist, having absolutely invaded Derek’s personal bubble as he’d slept. And as he feared, he was so fricking hard he was tenting the front of his sweats, visible as day from where he’d kicked off the covers in the night.

Stiles meeped and rolled away, curling up into a foetal position to hide his predicament. He really hoped Derek wouldn’t say anything about it, but of course, Derek being Derek…

“It’s fine Stiles,” he said sleepily, scratching at his stubble. Stiles heard the rasp.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, grabbing the covers and yanking them up, burrowing under them and covering his head. He wanted to burrow straight through the bed, and then the earth, until he reached the other side of the world where he and his ridiculous morning erection would both be safe, far, _far_ , away from Derek Hale.

“You’re a sleep hugger. It’s okay,” Derek said, jostling the bed as he stood.

Stiles froze, and mumbled slowly, “It’s okay that I’m like a nocturnal octopus?” just needing the clarification.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek huffed, sounding amused.

“‘Kay,” Stiles squeaked out, remaining hidden but his body melting with relief that Derek had, somehow, failed to notice his raging erection. He spent some time talking himself down, literally, and finally emerged from his bed-cocoon, and got himself ready to face the day.

That had been the pattern their nights/mornings had followed. Awkward Stiles at night, and then awkward erect Stiles in the morning, with Derek either entirely unaware (unlikely), or being kind and considerate by not laughing in Stiles’ face (also unlikely, but slightly more likely than option one). He’d somehow gotten used to the fleeting touches and intimacy they were putting on for Stiles’ friends, but it really sucked to watch the genuine growing relationship between Scott and Kira, almost as though they were mocking Stiles with their really real relationship, whilst all he had was Derek’s surprisingly decent acting skills and his own sinking ship of sanity.

The rehearsal dinner was being held at the Vineyard, and once again, the food was amazing. More of Francesco’s family were in attendance, and they were possibly the most welcoming people he’d ever met. He was plied with wine, and had eaten what was maybe the best tiramisu he’d ever tasted, all whilst laughing and talking with some of his favourite people in the world.

They had cleared one of the verandas and ringed it with soft yellow lights, mimicking candlelight, and couples were now dancing to the soft strains of slow, traditional music. Stiles briefly wondered when he’d stepped onto the set of romance movie, and then tried to shake off the aching in his chest.

“I’m assuming dancing was part of the whole date deal right?” Derek asked, coming up to stand with Stiles at the railing, overlooking the actual grapevines. 

“We really don’t need to do that,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

“We should. It’s expected,” Derek said, turning and leaning back, looking over the dance floor. “Kira’s happy,” he said with a soft voice. Stiles glanced up, and Derek was watching Kira and Scott move slowly on the dance floor, his eyes soft.

“They’re sickeningly perfect for each other, aren’t they?” Stiles agreed, turning also.

Derek made a small humming sound, like noncommittal assent, and straightened up. He held out his hand and smirked at Stiles. “Dance?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and put his hand in Derek’s, walking to the dance floor. “Presumably you’re going to be leading,” Stiles muttered.

“Of course,” Derek replied, grinning sharply. Stiles huffed and placed one hand on Derek’s shoulder, and let Derek hold the other. The music was slow, and though the words were Italian, they sounded lonely and full of yearning. Derek moved them to the beat, swaying their bodies and moving in a simple box step that even Stiles could cope with. His hand was firm against Stiles back, but he slid it up a little, drawing Stiles closer. He brought their hands in, so they rested on his chest. Stiles closed his eyes, and dropped his head, resting his cheekbone against Derek’s shoulder and looking out over it to watch Kira and Scott, and Lydia and Jackson, each sharing soft conversation and moving to the music. Each living something _real_.

As though he could feel Stiles’ sadness, Derek shifted his hold, his thumb rubbing against Stiles’ spine offering some kind of comfort, and he brushed a kiss against Stiles’ temple, inhaling as his lips pressed to Stiles’ skin. Stiles clenched his jaw and kept up with the swaying dance, focusing on counting down the seconds until the song was over and he could have some space.

He pulled back as the song wound down, and looked at Derek, noticing that he looked almost pained before his expression settled and he offered Stiles a fleeting smile. “I’m thirsty,” Stiles said, nodding towards the drinks table. “In much need of libations,” he added.

Derek nodded and released Stiles fully, and Stiles felt Derek’s eyes on him as he walked off. It reminded him a little of the night in the bar, Accalia, how he’d been so aware of Derek’s glare. Stiles ducked inside the building, following one of the servers directions for the bathroom, and found a plush leather sofa that he sank down on. He pulled out his phone, and spur of the moment decided to call his dad, with no regard for the international call costs.

“Are you okay?” His dad asked immediately upon answering, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah dad, I’m okay. I just thought I’d call,” Stiles replied, brushing his thumb against the stitched seam on the arm of the sofa.

“How’s Italy?”

“It’s beautiful. Really beautiful.”

“I didn’t expect to hear from you… you sure you’re okay kiddo?” his dad asked. Stiles could just picture that look he’d have on his face, fatherly concern and that innate cop suspicion narrowing his eyes.

“I’m just taking a breather.”

“How’s Lydia?”

“Goddess-like as always,” Stiles said.

“And Allison?”

“She’s… She’s happy. Really happy.”

“That’s good to hear kid. And how’re you?”

“I’m fine, dad,” Stiles insisted, smiling and sitting back.

“Where’s your date?”

“He’s outside, I think. Mingling and being charming I’m sure.”

“Things not going okay between you two?”

“No, we’re—”

“If you say okay again…”

“Good. We’re good.” His dad made a little amused sound and Stiles rolled his eyes. “How’s work?”

“Exciting as ever,” his dad drawled.

“Are you sticking to your eating plan?”

“Of course!” his dad said quickly. Too quickly.

“Enjoy it while it lasts old man, because when I get back there is nothing but vegetables and fish in your future,” Stiles threatened.

“Why do you want me to be miserable?”

“So you can live a long and unhappy life?”

“You’re a good kid,” his dad said, chuckling.

“I try.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“Hey!” Stiles objected. His dad laughed, and Stiles missed him intensely. “I should go, this is probably costing me like, $12 a minute.”

“All right son, say hi to everyone for me.”

“I will do.”

“And stay out of trouble. I have no international jurisdiction, so if you end up in jail you’re on your own.”

“Ha, so funny dad.”

“Love you kiddo.”

“Love you too dad.” Stiles hung up and tapped his fingers against the phone, smiling to himself. He felt a little less adrift now, and ready to face everyone - Derek - again. His dad always had an unfailingly grounding effect on him. He walked back out to the party, and braced his hands on Scott’s shoulders, leaning over him where he sat. “Yo, where’s Derek?” he asked the table in general. Danny and Scott both shrugged.

“I think he was talking to Allison's father,” Kira said with a frown, “but I don’t know where.”

“Okay, cool,” Stiles said slowly, nodding. He backed up and saluted the table, and turned to find Derek and Chris. Derek still hadn’t talked to him about their weird tension, so maybe he could get some answers now. He walked a circuit of the party to no avail, so he headed off down one of the pathways that wound around the entire main property, lined with stone pillars that had sconces on them for light. Stiles rounded the back of the property, and passed a grinning couple, arm in arm, stumbling slightly and speaking in rapid-fire Italian. He moved aside for them and carried on, his feet quiet on the stone paving.

He heard voices in the distance, and slowed a little, taking cautious quiet steps and edging closer.

“We had a code,” Chris snapped. Stiles paused andpressed his back to the wall, listening in from around the corner. He felt a little bad for eavesdropping, but he was so _curious_.

“A code?” Derek scoffed. He sounded almost impossibly angry. “A weak excuse to justify murder, that’s all your code is.”

“You’re wrong,” Chris retorted. “What they did had nothing to do with our code.”

“You know what? Fuck your code. Fuck your _honour_. It means _nothing_ ,” Derek hissed. There was a thumping sound, like maybe one of them had just hit the other or something, but Stiles definitely wasn’t about to reveal himself now. “Do you know what happened that night Chris? Did you ever ask for the full story?”

“Derek…”

“My family were trapped. Mountain ash, surrounding the building. They could open the doors and windows, get out on the porch, into the air, but it didn’t matter did it?”

“I never—“

“No, Chris. It didn’t matter. Because they were trapped, and they _burned_. And for what? A code? There were children in there. Humans too. Try to justify it however you want, yes there were werewolves in there, but don’t try to tell me it wasn’t murder,” Derek snarled, a deeply inhuman sound.

_Werewolves_ , Stiles repeated, his mouth dropping open as he listened.

“We were never a part of that!” Chris all but yelled. “I took Allison and _I got out_. As soon as I realised what she’d done, what my father had okayed. I wanted no part in that. I _believed_ in the code!”

“You were a fool,” Derek spat.

“You weren’t entirely innocent in this Hale,” Chris retorted. The thudding sound happened again, and this time Stiles flinched.

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked, his voice low and so dangerous it made Stiles heart start beating even faster. He thought he might be on the cusp of hyperventilation, actually.

“I—”

“Shut up,” Derek commanded, voice firm. He was quiet for a moment, and then: “Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes and held his breath, as though that would help him now.

“Stiles?” Derek said again, closer this time.

Stiles scrubbed his hand through his hair and shook out his limbs, then appeared from round the corner, nodding his head. “Hey, Derek. I was looking for you,” he said, acting breezy. Or trying to. “What’s up Mr Argent,” he saluted.

Derek was looking at him with that blank face, and Chris was leaning back against the wall, his shirtfront rumpled where he’d obviously been pinned. By Derek. Who… snarled, and growled, and talked about werewolves and murder, and now Stiles was having trouble breathing again.

“Stiles take a deep breath,” Derek instructed, not coming closer. Smart move, really, because Stiles was _so close_ to running away. He gulped in a breath, eyes wide. Chris came to stand by Derek, and put a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back a step, maybe thinking Stiles needed space. Stiles nodded, and Derek looked momentarily hurt, but Stiles just couldn’t care about that right now.

“Another,” Derek said, watching Stiles gasp in another big inhale. And then another. In and out, over and over.

“Who killed your family?” Stiles finally asked, once he’d passed the passing out danger zone. Just about.

Chris and Derek both winced in unison, but Derek just set his jaw, nostrils flaring. He looked like he was barely staying in control.

“My sister, Kate,” Chris said evenly, stepping around Derek.

Stiles nodded slowly, taking in the information and running it through his brain, feeling it collide with the million other thoughts and questions he had skittering around in there right now.

“Because they were werewolves?” Stiles asked slowly, testing the words out in his mouth.

“Yes,” Derek gritted out.

“And you’re a werewolf hunter?” he asked Chris.

“I was.”

“And you. You’re a…” he hooked his fingers into claws and twitched them up in front of him.

Derek closed his eyes and sighed, “a werewolf.”

“Right. Werewolf. Is a thing, a real thing. Which you are,” he rambled, still holding up his little claw hands. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Chris, leave us,” Derek said, no, ordered. Chris made a sound of protest, but Derek overruled it. “Go.”

“Are you okay being left alone with him?” Chris asked, putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles nodded without hesitating, feeling like one of those bobble heads people keep in their cars sometimes. “Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” he said, slightly mechanically.

“Stiles,” Chris demanded, shaking him once.

Stiles blinked and jerked back. “I’m fine,” he said more firmly, sounding a little more like he meant it.

Chris’s cold blue eyes searched his, and he finally relented, looking back to Derek before walking away.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out,” Derek said once Chris was out of earshot. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t know I’m like… prolifically nosy.” The words were right, but the intonation was kind of… flat.

“Stiles,” Derek signed.

“If you ask me if I’m okay, I’m going to punch you dude,” Stiles warned. Derek huffed, and Stiles relaxed a little, found the familiar sound of Derek’s amused irritation comforting. “So. Werewolves.”

“Yeah.”

“All fangs and fur and claws?”

“More or less.”

“Do you shift more like Oz from Buffy, or Jacob from Twilight?”

“Neither,” Derek said, sounding annoyed by the comparison.

Stiles finally looked up at him, but all he saw was Derek. Beautiful, pissed off, strangely sweet Derek. He looked exhausted. Wrung out. “Do you howl at the moon?” Stiles joked weakly.

Derek rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Sometimes,” he answered, quirking his lips into a small smile.

“Wait, really?”

“It’s a pack thing,” Derek said defensively.

“A pack?”

“Yes.”

“Like… multiple werewolves. A collective of them, even.”

“Yes, Stiles, that’s the definition. Well done.”

“Your sisters?” Derek nodded. “Oh oh, and Erica, she _has_ to be. And Boyd.” Stiles frowned. “Peter?”

Derek curled his lip, “yes, Peter,” he said, sounding unhappy.

“Wait. Kira?” Stiles asked, trying to picture Kira as a werewolf but failing miserably. This was exciting. _Werewolves._

“No, Kira’s… different. Not a werewolf.”

“But part of your pack?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed. He had so many questions about what he’d overheard, about Derek’s family, and the Argents, but he steered clear of those. It wasn’t his place to satiate his curiosity by asking intrusive questions about what was obviously a fucking gigantic trauma in Derek’s life, but the werewolf stuff? That was fair game. “Hey, can you show me?” Stiles asked.

Derek stared at him with incredulity, and it made Stiles want to giggle, but that may have been a little bit of hysteria too.“Show you.”

“Yeah, you know. The wolf stuff.”

“You want me to shift for you.”

“Are you asking questions or making statements right now dude? Oh hey, is weird speech patterns a werewolf thing too? Because your uncle does something similar—”

Derek exhaled heavily through his nose.

“And is that why you flare your nostrils and huff so much? Are you like, secretly sniffing things? Oh my God have you been sniffing me?”

Derek looked like he wished he could rewind all the way back to the day Cora went to work and told Scott and Stiles they should check out Accalia. Stiles thought Derek would chain Cora to a chair to prevent that meet-cute from happening in the first place, to stop _anything_ from being set in motion that led to this moment right now.

“Pick a question and go with it Stiles.”

“Fine. Sniffing first. Have you smelled me?”

“Yes Stiles, I’ve smelled you.”

“That’s very intrusive,” Stiles said, scowling. “I would have showered more if I’d known,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need to shower more Stiles. You actually smell really good,” Derek said, sounding grumpy about it.

“Really? Huh,” Stiles grinned. “I smell good,” he hummed happily to himself.

“Next question?”

“The shift. Will you show me?” Stiles asked, dropping the humour.

Derek was silent, and glanced around, deliberating. He looked down and stared at the floor frowning.

“Derek?”

Derek looked up as Stiles spoke, and his eyes were a shockingly vibrant pale blue, so much so they almost glowed.

“Dude,” Stiles breathed.

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said, slightly muffled. He skinned his lips back to reveal fangs, and Stiles audibly gulped.

“That. Is. _Awesome_!”

Derek rolled his head on his neck and then cracked it to the side in a slightly jerky motion, a succession of quick movements, and when he faced Stiles again he had a slightly ridged and bumpy eyebrowless brow - a bit like a Buffy vampire, Stiles noted - and tufty sideburns, but most importantly, he had big protruding canines and sharp claws. It was amazing, and Stiles didn’t really think before he reached out to touch, only realising the possible faux-pas when Derek leaned back and away from the touch.

“No touchy?” Stiles asked.

Derek narrowed his eyes, but stood still, letting Stiles reach out to touch his brow and teeth respectively. Derek snapped his teeth at Stiles’ questing hands, and Stiles yelped and jumped. “Jackass,” he hissed, as Derek laughed. Stiles noticed he hung his head again, hiding his laughter from sight.

Then and there he made it his personal mission to actually _see_ Derek laugh.

“Are you super fast? Strong?”

“I’m faster and stronger than a human, yeah,” Derek said, looking back at Stiles through his now green eyes.

“Anything else?”

“I have better eyesight. I heal faster when wounded. Can’t get sick. I have a better sense of smell, obviously, but I can get a feel for… emotions, or hormones. I can decipher what a person is feeling through their scent.”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“I can tell when you’re happy, sad, tired…”

“Oh God,” Stiles mumbled.

“Also I can hear when you lie, the upticks in your heartbeat.”

“Well that’s just awesome,” Stiles said, this time dripping sarcasm. He couldn’t help but think about how much he must have stunk of sadness, loneliness, arousal… so many humiliating things he thought he’d been hiding, and now he understood why Derek had managed to be so damn fucking attentive to his moods and that was probably even worse. Derek had known, and he’d been _nice_ about it.

“Stiles—”

“I’m gonna need a minute,” Stiles said flatly. He could just imagine how he must reek of embarrassment. It wasn’t Derek’s fault though, so Stiles was trying really hard to not hold it against him. “Can you just, do me a favour and never even mention any of, you know,” he flailed his hands to encompass himself from head to toe. “Please?”

“Okay, I can do that,” Derek agreed, haltingly. He sounded like he maybe wanted to argue, but had decided not to. For now at least, Stiles assumed. He cocked his head. “Scott’s coming.”

Stiles nodded, and kicked his toe against the stones internally debating. Then he blurted, “Look, Derek. I’m sorry okay. For whatever… vibes, I’ve been giving off. I know this isn’t a thing okay, I didn’t forget that. I know it’s not real. But you’re hot, and I’ve been single for so long… “ Stiles shrugged, nonchalantly. He said enough to be telling the truth, leaving it for Derek to infer the rest, because if he said the words out loud, his heart would go haywire, proving him a liar. But leaving it like this… well, he figured he’d found a loop hole in the whole lie detector thing, and found a way to let them both off the hook. Stiles could continue to pine, and Derek wouldn’t have to feel guilty for not feeling anything back.

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Stiles didn’t give him a chance, clapping him on the shoulder, “Anyway. Good talk. Don’t worry, your super secret identity is safe with me,” and he scooted off around the corner as he heard Scott calling his name in the distance. He told himself he wasn’t running away, but he didn’t quite believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And queue the drama. Because I apparently can't help it...


	7. Seven

“Holy hell,” Stiles gawked, blinking rapidly. “You look fucking amazing!”

“Thank you,” Allison grinned, squeezing her eyes shut in the process. Stiles had been permitted into the inner bridal sanctum, and even half-ready Allison was breath-taking. Literally. Her dress was comprised of layers of tulle, long and flowing, interspersed with the palest grey that gave it subtle depth when she moved. There was a soft lace overlay that had a beautiful beadwork design that petered out from the waist to the hips, until there was just the tulle layers, with a deep V neckline, that stopped just shy of being revealing. She had her hair up in a curled chignon style, with loose waves framing her face and small flowers were woven through. She had no make up on yet, but in Stiles’ opinion she looked more amazing than he’d ever seen her look before, and she’d set the bar pretty high in the past.

Lydia came breezing into the room in a long, pale, dusty rose dress, that looked perfectly complimentary to the subtle grey of Allison's dress, and she looked amazing too. He wasn’t sure it was possible for either of them to not look amazing, but really. Damn.

Stiles was endlessly thankful Lydia had been in charge of his outfit with Vincent, so he wouldn’t let the side down.

“Stiles you aren’t dressed,” Lydia stated, giving him the evil eye.

“Well observed, no I’m not. I just came up to sneak a peek and also Jackson mocked Scott for not having a full Windsor knot, and now he’s pouting. Can you come do it for him, pretty please?”

“Yes, yes, fine, I’ll be down in fifteen minutes exactly, and I expect you to be dressed and ready to have your tie fixed too Stiles.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles relented as Lydia bustled him out of the room. “You’re gorgeous Ally,” he called out as the door shut in his face.

There were people all rushing around and getting ready; the entire Paladini clan were all within the main house getting dressed, and people were zipping around talking on cell phones to make sure everything was going according to schedule. The wedding was taking place on the grounds of the villa, with the reception at Cecco’s vineyard, and even though the main house wasn’t involved per se, it was still being lavishly decorated.

Stiles almost collided with a woman holding a crate full of bottles of champagne, and ducked out of the house before he could actually cause ridiculously expensive and irreparable damage to anything.

He’d been somewhat avoiding Derek this morning, stupidly, so he headed back to Scott’s where his suit was awaiting him, and assured Scott that Lydia would be down soon. He got himself dressed with a minimum of fuss, even though Scott wouldn’t leave the room the entire time, trying to tame his cow-licky hair and near wailing at his failure.

“Scott, just wet it,” Stiles finally snapped, yanking the door open.

“It’ll go greasy,” Scott whined.

“So wet it, then put product on it or something, jeez!”

“Can you get Kira?”

“Kira?!” Stiles called, wanting to hand Scott off.

“She’s at yours with Derek,” Scott shouted through the now closed door.

Stiles stomped across the courtyard and knocked on his own front door, fidgeting. He knew Derek would know he was standing there, could probably hear his fidgeting and feel his awkwardness seeping under the door.

“Hi Stiles,” Kira answered the door.

“Scott is complaining about his hair, loudly.”

“I’ll go fix him,” Kira grinned. “Derek is grumpy,” she mouthed exaggeratedly, widening her eyes.

Stiles grimaced and watched her go longingly, wondering if he could get away with following after her. Stiles braced himself, and walked in to the villa, but the main room was empty. “Der?” he called, glancing into the bedroom.

Empty.

“Derek?” Stiles called again, standing in the kitchenette, frowning.

The sliding doors to the back patio opened, and Derek stepped in through them, scowling angrily enough to beat the expression he wore that first time Stiles had seen him.

“Holy shit.” Stiles forcibly closed his mouth with a click and took a half step forward. Derek looked like a fricking GQ model, in a pale grey textured suit with a dark shirt and light tie. With a dark expression to match, though it did ease up a little at the sight of Stiles. “So you look, wow.”

“Articulate.”

“I’m sorry I was being ridiculous,” Stiles blurted out, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I just… I’m embarrassed. I mean, you never once mentioned it, but I know how I’ve been feeling this past week, and now I know you know.”

“I know you’re attracted to me Stiles, I don’t need my nose for that.”

Stiles pulled a face at Derek, and flushed. “Well duh, I have eyes.”

Derek rolled his eyes at that, reached out and hooked his fingers through Stiles’ belt loops, inadvertently reminding him he needed to put on his belt. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about that Stiles,” Derek said, tugging lightly to punctuate his words before letting go.

“I should be used to it by now anyway,” Stiles mumbled, shrugging. “I’m surrounded by beautiful people on a daily basis, have been since puberty, and God knows I started the unrequited attraction thing with a bang by falling for Lydia—”

“Stiles, you’re rambling.”

“— so you’re right. Why bother being embarrassed by this one? Just because you can literally smell how much I want you sometimes, like you said, I’m obvious enough even without that —“

“And it isn’t unrequited.”

“— and you know what? I’m putting a pin in the embarrassment. I’m done with it for now, and we’re going to have a good time today, and wow you look amazing, so be prepared for a lot of stinky attraction smells coming your way and _not_ just from me.” He stopped and took a breath.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said there, did you?”

“You were speaking?”Stiles asked, cocking his head.

Derek glared at him, but it was one of his amused glares and a vast improvement on the murder scowl he’d been rocking moments earlier. “Where’s your tie?”

Stiles pulled it out of his pocket with a flourish. “Lydia would kill me if she saw that,” Stiles grinned. Derek huffed and looped the tie around Stiles’ neck, situating it neatly under Stiles’ collar. He used it to tug Stiles a step closer, and set about tying Stiles’ tie. “It has to be a full Windsor,” Stiles said quietly, watching Derek’s hands move, finding the moment almost unbearably intimate and immediately chastising himself for attributing meaning to innocent actions again. HE really needed to stop with that.

Derek glanced up at him, his eyes bright beneath dark lashes. He maintained eye contact as he worked on the tie, only breaking it to look down at Stiles’ mouth. Stiles couldn’t help but lick his lips, like a reflex action, and Derek watched that too, hands still working the silken tie, finally stilling when it was done. He looked back up to Stiles’ eyes, and his pupils were blown. Stiles heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he let the stray thought of _maybe I’m not imagining this_ float through his brain.

Derek inhaled deeply, and used the tie to pull Stiles as close as he could with his hand still between them, dipping his head down to breathe in, just below Stiles’ jaw. There was no direct contact and yet Stiles felt a shiver race down his spine and heat pool in his stomach.

“Dude, Kira fixed my hair,” Scott said loudly, bursting through the door with a happy smile. His tie was still loose around his neck, but he was ready to go otherwise. He stuttered to a stop and blinked at Stiles and Derek with wide eyes.

Derek took a step back and released Stiles’ tie, smoothing it down with a stroke of his hand. “There you go,” he said, voice a little raspier than usual.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, mouth dry.

“Hair looks good Scott,” Derek said with a nod, walking into the bedroom.

He closed the door after himself, and Scott looked to Stiles with an apology written all over his face. “I fucked up,” he stated.

“You fucked up,” Stiles agreed, near brimming with sexual frustration that he had to tamp down. Mingled with a heavy dose of disbelief that _holy fuck_ Derek was at least a little attracted to him too. Or his scent. Whatever. “I, uh. I need my vest,” Stiles said, backing up to the closed bedroom door. “Lydia will kill me if I’m not in my vest.”

Scott shook his head at Stiles’ obviousness, and walked back out, presumably to await Lydia and to give Stiles and Derek some privacy. Stiles opened the door and slipped into the bedroom, expecting Derek to be in the bathroom, but found himself immediately pressed against the bedroom door, closing it with his body as Derek pushed him back with a palm on his chest.

“Wha-? I?” Stiles stuttered.

Derek stepped close, less than an inch between their bodies; Stiles could _feel_ Derek’s breath on his lips. He braced a hand by Stiles’ head and leaned in, his stubble grazing Stiles’ cheek as he spoke into his ear. “If you’d listened to me out there,” Derek said, voice low. “You’d have heard me tell you it wasn’t unrequited attraction. In case that wasn’t obvious.” He took one more deep inhale by Stiles’ neck, and then stepped back, putting around a foot of space between them.

“I hate you so much right now,” Stiles breathed. He pushed past Derek and slipped into his vest, buttoning it up with fumbling fingers.

Derek smirked at him, and brushed the back of his knuckles against Stiles’ tie. “No you don’t.”

“You need to stop with that,” Stiles huffed. Derek raised an eyebrow, you Stiles waved a hand at him. “All of that!”

“I wasn’t aware I was doing anything.”

Stiles groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his fingers between his knees. “You really aren’t just messing with me?” he asked, hating how insecure he sounded. For all his bluster and bravado, Stiles had a tendency to never think he was good enough, and that fear was really clawing it’s way up from deep in his gut right now.

Derek didn’t reply right away, and that just made Stiles want to squirm his way under the bed, hide until Derek went away. He liked to ignore things until they went away. It was his A+ coping strategy for basically everything in life, and he’d been doing fine so far thank you very much. He stared down at his hands, unblinking, when Derek dropped into a crouch in front of him, placing his broad hands on Stiles’ knees. “Hey, look at me,” Derek requested in a steady voice.

Stiles took a deep breath, steeling himself, and looked at Derek head on, unflinchingly, wrapping himself up in his armour. He had a wealth of sarcastic retorts all lined up and waiting on his tongue, ready to go.

“I’m not messing with you,” Derek said, a little line forming between his eyebrows as he looked up at Stiles. “Don’t get me wrong, you still annoy me. And I’ve thought about punching you in the face, more than once.”

“Wow, Derek, you know how to make a guy feel special.”

“But I’ve also thought about how you’d taste. Your skin, your mouth. You’re possibly the most hyperactive pain in the ass I’ve ever met, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like, to have all that energy underneath me.”

“Oh my God… you actually mean that, don’t you?” Stiles stuttered. “Were you dropped on the head a lot as a kid? Is that what this is?”

“I’m not really in the habit of saying things just to make people feel better Stiles,” Derek replied, moving both his hands slightly further up Stiles legs, gripping the outside of his thighs lightly.

“You’re literally killing me. To death,” Stiles replied, unable to take his eyes off Derek’s face. He was smirking now, and Stiles remembered again that Derek could literally smell Stiles’ attraction to him. Derek dropped to his knees, moving the bulk of his body between Stiles’ legs, and tilted his head up so his lips were just right there. All parted and kissable.

A better man than Stiles might have been able to resist.

Never had Stiles been so fucking grateful to not be a better man.

He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to Derek’s, catching his bottom lip between his own in a surprisingly soft kiss. His hand came up of its own volition, cupping Derek’s neck and using his thumb under Derek’s jaw to angle the kiss slightly, feeling the scratch of stubble against his palm. He knew Derek was letting him control the chaste press of their lips, and a big part of Stiles wanted to just dive right the fuck in, but he was genuinely concerned he wouldn’t be able to stop. Self control wasn’t something he was too well acquainted with, and he knew Derek would be hell on the small amount he could muster.

Still, he deepened the kiss, looping his free arm around Derek’s neck, pulling him closer. Derek’s hands slid up to grip Stiles’ hips, tightening as their tongues slip-slid together, a wet press of heat as they chased and retreated. They both groaned, Stiles with volume and Derek with a rumbling depth, and Stiles absentlythought that he’d never tire of hearing that noise. Wondered what other noises Derek would make, how much it would take for him to start to lose control. For his groans to take on the guttural rasp of a growl.

He pulled back, breath coming fast and leaned his forehead against Derek’s, then dropped it to his shoulder, burying his face in Derek’s neck. “I think I might die of sexual frustration,” Stiles mumbled quietly.

Derek laughed softly, and sat back on his heels, hands once again loose on Stiles’ knees. “We have to go. They’re all outside.” He grinned as Stiles pulled an unhappy face, elastic and exaggerated before he settled into a pouty little moue of displeasure. Derek rolled his eyes and stood, holding out a hand to Stiles.

“Fine,” Stiles glared, using Derek’s hand to yank himself up. He readjusted his trousers, and tugged his vest down again. “But you owe me. After this little display, _someone_ needs to sex me, and I nominate you.”

“I can live with that.”

 

*****

 

The wedding ceremony was taking place on a beautiful expansive lawn, surrounded by woods and manicured clusters of colourful floral sprays. There was a fountain off to one side, slightly faded with time. The centrepiece was a woman, in a flowing robe, holding on to a muscled man, with plumes of water bubbling around them.

There were wooden chairs laid out on the lawn, with a makeshift aisle between them, lined with bouquets of beautiful pale pink and white flowers with vivid purple accent blooms, each wrapped up in pale grey ribbon. Stiles and the others moved to sit at the front on the right hand side, settling down by Chris. Somehow Derek ended up behind Chris, by the aisle in the second row, but he seemed okay with the situation so Stiles wasn’t too concerned.

Or at least he wasn’t until Derek went rigid beside him, and began to breath heavily, like he was on the cusp of a panic attack. Worried, Stiles twisted around so his body was somewhat blocking Derek from view, and reached out to touch Derek’s arm, but halted at the gruff “don’t touch me,” that came from Derek. His eyes were green, but it looked like it was taking him a lot of willpower for them to stay that way, and his nostrils flared like a spooked horse as he exhaled harsh breaths.

Derek sucked in one final breath and held it, closing his eyes as though awaiting a deathblow. Stiles opened his mouth, concern upgrading to fear, when a woman walked over to them from the milling crowds, and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder in a move that was proprietary and too-familiar.

“Derek,” she greeted, her voice husky and drawling. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you’d know better.” She leaned in, her dirty blond curls brushing against Derek’s arm. “You never were a smart animal though were you?” she asked with a rasping chuckle.

Chris grabbed her arm, seemingly appearing from nowhere, and yanked her away from Derek. “This isn’t the place Kate.”

Well fuck. _Kate_. Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and he narrowed his eyes angrily, something like hatred bubbling up inside of him. Kate, who had burned Derek’s family alive? Stiles’ could barely comprehend having the audacity to mock someone whose world you had destroyed like she did, but then he’d never been a particularly cruel person, and Kate was undoubtedly as cruel as they came.

Kate let Chris pull her away, but her eyes stayed on Derek. Stiles wanted to shield him from it, but knew it wouldn’t go any good. “Derek,” Stiles said quietly, keeping his voice even and firm. “You need to let me know if you’re going to lose it, and we’ll find somewhere to go. You can’t wolf out here.”

“I’m fine,” Derek gritted out, his mouth an angry slash. He was looking down at his whitening knuckles, hands in tight fists. 

“Good for you. I’m not.”

Derek turned his head slightly towards Stiles then, scowl etched on his brow.

“I’m freaked out, and I feel guilty because it’s my fault you’re here, and is she going to try something?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said, reaching out and putting his hand on Stiles’ forearm. Stiles hadn’t been lying by any means, but he’d hoped he’d trigger Derek’s innate protective instinct, just to drag him out of whatever place he’d been stuck in in his head.

A place of fire and recrimination, Stiles guessed.

The anger in his stomach flared up again when Derek averted his gaze again, something like shame in his eyes. Stiles had always figured he’d be willing to kill if he needed to. For Scott, for Lydia, for his Dad. He used to think about what he would do, if his dad got hurt in the line of duty, and he knew deep down inside he would want revenge on anyone who dared to hurt the people he loved.

And right now he realised he’d do the same for Derek.

He took Derek’s hand in his and interlaced their fingers, gripping tight to keep them both grounded, and felt gratified that Derek was holding him back just as tightly as the guests all moved to find their seats. The empty space in front of Derek was a glaring reminder of Kate’s presence, and Scott twisted around to ask “where’d Mr Argent go?” to which Stiles just shrugged. Scott did that dopy confused look, but turned back around and leaned in to talk to Kira who was shooting worried looks at Derek but kept quiet about it.

Derek cocked his head slightly, looking just slightly to the right and went still. “She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t invited,” he said abruptly.

Stiles frowned, and realised Chris was actually talking to Derek right now, knowing his hearing would pick up on whatever he said. He scanned the lawn, and spotted Chris towards the back of the open space, near the tree line. Only then did it occur to him that he’d be giving Allison away, so of course wouldn’t be rejoining them yet. 

“Allison was pleased to see her, so she’s staying,” Derek growled.

“Doesn’t mean we have to,” Stiles said, not caring if he was talking over Chris.

Derek stiffened sharply, and pulled his hand away from Stiles’. “We can’t let her chase us out. It’s what she wants. For me to react to her.”

“You don’t have to put yourself through this to prove a point,” Stiles argued.

Derek just shook his head, conveying clearly that he didn’t think Stiles understood. “You’re not missing your friend’s wedding because of her Stiles. How would you explain that to Allison?”

“I’m very well versed in coming up with excuses.”

“And yet you’re a terrible liar,” Derek said. “We’re not leaving,” he said with finality.

Stiles sat back, a little pissed off at Derek’s high-handed attitude, but mostly just pissed off in general at Kate fucking Argent. “Okay, we stay,” he agreed. He debated long and hard over what to say next, trying to predict Derek’s responses, whether he should open his mouth or not, but Derek had yet to make proper eye contact or raise his lowered gaze since Kate had spoken. “Derek,” he hesitated a second. “You aren’t an animal. You know that, right?”

Derek curled his lip in a dismissive sneer but didn’t reply.

“No, come on. You know it’s bullshit. You’re not an animal Derek. And you know I’m not lying, seeing as you mistakenly seem to think I’m bad at it. You’re a good man. Yes you scowl a ridiculous amount, and yes, I too want to sometimes punch you, but damn it Derek. You’re the best person I’ve met in a long long time, and I feel like you need to know that right now, because you have this look on your face like you believe her. Like you’re ashamed of who and what you are, and that isn’t something I can sit here and be okay with. It makes me feel like I’m literally going to go out of my mind, because I don’t know how to make you stop feeling that. All I can do is tell you what I believe.”

“Stiles-” Derek said, sounding pained.

“No dude. Just… please look at me. That it. Look at me, and believe that I mean what I’m saying.”

Derek’s mouth tightened, and the hollows of his cheeks flexed as he ground his teeth, but he eventually looked up, eyes locking on to Stiles’. There was so much pain in them it made Stiles ache.

“You’re awesome,” Stiles said simply.

“You don’t know me,” Derek replied, hollowly.

“I want to. Like, seriously, dude. I want to.”

Derek blinked and looked away, swallowing. Stiles watched him, forgetting the world around them, until the opening strains of violin music began to swell, and he was abruptly jerked back to reality. The wedding. They all stood on cue as the music drifted around them, and turned to face the back of the aisle, where Allison would appear. Kate was in the last row, and she waited to catch Derek’s eye, face splitting into a cold smile before she turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Derek’s hand reached out for Stiles’, holding on tight.

If asked, Stiles would barely be able to recount any details of the ceremony. He knew Allison looked breathtaking as she walked down the aisle with Chris, who looked proud, but subdued. He knew that the vows made several people in the crowd cry - including Scott. He knew that Allison cried, grinning and wiping tears away with an embarrassed roll of her eyes. But they were just snippets. Snapshots of moments in time, that he was thankful he’d remember, because the rest of it was a blur. It felt like the longest thing he’d ever lived through and, simultaneously like he’d blinked and suddenly it was over. The newlyweds were walking back down the aisle, the guests standing and smiling, laughing together, wiping tears. They all followed down the aisle, clearing away from the chairs to mingle and mix, as servers walked around with silver trays laden with flutes of champagne.

Stiles scanned the groups for sight of Kate, and found her with Chris over at the back. They looked like they were arguing, until Allison skipped over tugging Francesco behind her. Chris visibly forced a smile on his face, and Kate proved herself the more practised actor of the two when she smiled, looking genuinely pleased to see Allison and placing a hand on Francesco’s arm.

It sickened Stiles to see Allison hugging Kate, and to see Francesco kissing her cheeks.

“Stilinski!” Jackson said sharply, sounding like he’d maybe been saying Stiles’ name for a while. “Jesus, you were always slow on the uptake, but I think you might have actually managed to get even _more_ useless,” Jackson snarked.

“What do you want?”

“Lydia said to tell you we’re heading to the vineyard,” Jackson said, gesturing back to where Lydia stood, deep in conversation with Danny.

“Still her errand boy huh Jackson?” Stiles quipped, voice slightly venomous.

“Whatever Stilinski. Come with us or stay, I don’t care either way,” Jackson shrugged, and walked off.

Stiles sighed, and looked to Derek, needing to give him one more out. “Do we go?” he asked, eyes sliding over Derek’s shoulder to Kate.

“Yeah,” Derek said, looking grim. “We go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama, drama, drama...


	8. Eight

The vineyard was spectacular. The Tuscan sun was casting a yellow-gold glow over the entirety of the property, and rather than continuing on with the colour themes of the wedding ceremony, the vineyard was decorated with flowers of deep reds, bright oranges, and rich yellows. Everything was bursting with colour, and when dusk fell yellow sconces were lit, as they had been the night prior. Seeing as there were so many guests, the food was largely buffet style, with small mouthfuls of deliciousness and plenty of breads; bruschetta, breads with olive oil and balsamic, focaccia, and wood fired pizzas.

The wedding cake was styled off of a geode cake Stiles remembered Allison cooing over in one of their group chats, and he had to admit, the effect was pretty darn amazing, with pale grey sugar crystals eventually giving way to deep, deep purple, and streaks of silver and gold around the glittering chasm in the cake.

Stiles could smell florals in the air, mixed in with the sweet spice of the scented tea lights that were liberally scattered around, little winking lights that the staff must have been replacing with regularity because they never seemed to go out.

“Hey, what does this all smell like to you?” he asked Derek, curious as to how much more his werewolf nose could pick up.

“It’s a little overwhelming,” Derek admitted, as they sat overlooking the dance floor. The staggered terraces meant the guests could mingle in smaller groups with something at least masquerading as privacy, and the main patio was where the dancing and eating were happening by and large. “It’s very… pungent. A lot of overlaid scents, like aftershaves, perfumes, the scents from products… add in the flowers, the candles, the vineyard itself. I can smell the soil, the acidity of it, the mellow undertones of the vines. And then the people themselves. The sweat, their individual odours. It’s like layer upon layer.” Derek shrugged, his nose slightly wrinkled, and looked out over the crowds, gaze intent.

“That’s… a lot,” Stiles hedged, suddenly very aware of his own scent, and the fact he was lightly sweating in his layers under the sun, and was wearing aftershave on top of scented body wash.

Derek had been tense since they’d arrived at the reception a few hours ago, though it had lessened after there were no Kate sightings for the first hour.

Nor were there any Chris sightings.

He was still alert, and would stiffen slightly at any noises that came from behind, so Stiles had guided them to the top terrace, overlooking the rest of the guests. There were a few clusters of people here, but Derek seemed slightly calmer, which in turn made Stiles calmer.

Stiles had long since shed his tie - as Lydia predicted - and his jacket was downstairs in one of the guest rooms with said tie stuffed in the pocket. He watched over his friends dancing and grinning with a strange feeling in his stomach. To be so apart from them, to be witnessing from the outside, was a new feeling for him. Usually, he’d be in the centre of it all, making the most noise, inserting himself amongst them. There was something a little like nostalgia, he thought, in his gut as he watched them. His friends from school, who’d drifted and come back together so many times, here in one place for the first time in years.

Allison had her arms looped around Lydia’s neck, smiling happily, their cheeks pressed together. Jackson was smirking and Danny was grinning as he spoke, recounting a story that had them all in peals of laughter.

“Why are you up here with me?” Derek asked, eyes following where Stiles was looking.

Stiles shrugged, and leaned his elbows on the railing, hands clasped. “You ever had those moments, that you know you’re always going to remember? There’s something comforting, about seeing them together. Like that right there,” he gestured lazily, extending his pointer finger towards them. “That’s a sight I’ll remember.”

“Why does that make you sad?”

“Are you using your super-sniffer again?” Stiles joked, standing upright. He curled his fingers over the railing loosely, and looked to Derek. “It isn’t sad, exactly. I just… things change, you know. It’s what they do. Forward momentum and all of that. I just wonder if and when we’ll have this again.”

“You say ‘we,’ and yet you aren’t down there. They’re wondering where you are, you know. See how Scott and Lydia never fully close the circle? That space is yours. All the pauses, the micro-hesitations. They’re the spaces you would fill. You should go down there. Don’t save up memories of watching them. Go and be part of them,” Derek said, voice even.

“Come with me? Kira’s down there,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek shook his head, and gave Stiles a half smile. “I’m fine here.”

“Creeper,” Stiles accused, smiling.

Derek rolled his eyes, and jutted his chin out towards Stiles’ friends. “Go on.”

Stiles hesitated, but Derek gave him one of those slightly sassy ‘you’re being annoying just go away,’ looks that he had down pat, so Stiles nodded and walked down the outside stairs, smiling and pausing to chat with various friends and family of Allison and Francesco. Carina was slightly drunk, and kissed Stiles loudly on the cheek as her husband laughed and clapped his back, sending him stumbling slightly.

“Dance with me!” she insisted, curling her hand in the crook of his elbow, and sweeping them onto the dance floor. Stiles did as he was told, chuckling as he twirled Carina, all the while Cecco heckled them, eventually joined by Kira and Scott. Cecco pulled Lydia onto the dance floor in short order, twirling them so that her curls streamed around them, and soon they were disappearing into the crowds of dancing couples.

Stiles was laughing and slightly sweating by the time he made it off the dance floor, having checked Kira, Lydia, Carina, and Francesco’s mother Rosa, off of his dance card. His next was promised to Scott, who always jumped at the chance to dance with Stiles, maybe because he - surprisingly - had a decent amount of rhythm and he never stepped on toes.

He shimmied his way through the crowd, and picked up a glass of white wine from one of the servers, and joined Danny over by the food tables. “Hey dude,” he greeted, clapping Danny on the back.

“Hey man,” Danny smiled, before biting into a breadstick. “Done tearing up the dance floor?”

“I’m a hot commodity,” Stiles gave a heavy put upon sigh.

“You love it,” Danny pushed him. Stiles grinned, and took a swallow of his wine. “So where’s Derek?”

“Last I saw him, he was up on the terrace. He’s not such a party dude, you know?” Stiles offered, not wanted to give away Derek’s prior connections to the Argents. If Allison didn’t know, Stiles wasn’t about to burst her bubble, so he was keeping his mouth shut. Which he was, in fact, capable of, no matter how much of a motor mouth people assumed he was.

“Yeah I get that about him,” Danny nodded. “It’s weird having everyone together isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yeah, it is. Jackson is exactly the fucking same.”

“Yeah he is,” Danny laughed. “Maybe he’s grown up and realised how good he had it with Lydia though.”

“He looks at her like she’s a chem quiz or something. 100% confusion and consternation.”

“I think he’s wondering if she’s actually real,” Danny chuffed.

“It’s kind of… I don’t know. I mean, Scotty and Allison both turned out great, but part of me always thought they’d have the happily ever after. And I guess they will, but just not with each other. But Lyds and Jackson? If they somehow gravitate back towards each other, I think I might start believing in Disney romance again.”

“And that only sounded about 50% sarcastic.”

“A personal best.”

“Impressive,” Danny agreed, swiping Stiles’ glass from his hand and taking a sip.

“I think I’m gonna go look for Derek,” Stiles said, grabbing a breadstick.

“All this talk of romance make you miss your man?” Danny teased. Stiles threw the end of his breadstick at Danny, and it bounced off his chest and landed in the wine glass.

“I am literally the best ever,” Stiles crowed, lifting his arms. He turned and walked through the dance floor, arms still raised in victory, with Danny loudly booing him, until he ended up at the stairs again. Stiles jogged up them, checking each terrace as he went for Derek.

He’d only been gone for maybe 40 minutes, but that was more than enough time for Bad Things to happen, and Stiles felt apprehensive when he reached the top balcony and found it only populated by Francesco’s friends.

That feeling only worsened when he skimmed his eyes over the crowds below, and for the first time since they’d arrived at the vineyard, saw Chris Argent walking around the dance floor with an intense look on his face. He was waylaid by Allison, who grabbed him into a hug and made him dance - of course Chris couldn’t deny his daughter on her big day, but Stiles could see the concern on his face that he couldn’t quite mask fast enough.

Stiles felt a little bit of déjà vu, skirting the edges of the guests for the second night in a row as he looked for Derek, this time well aware of just how fucking bad things could be for Derek right now. Last night he’d been poking around curiously, but tonight it was anxiety that had him loping around the building, giving brief smiles and assurances as he did so.

“Hey,” Scotty grabbed Stiles arm as he went to slip past, turning them both in a circle with Stiles’ momentum. “They’re about to do the fireworks,” Scott grinned, eyes wide. He loved fireworks, was totally one of those people who “oohed’ and ‘ahhed,’ with wonder. Stiles usually loved that about him, but right now Scott was just holding him up.

“Dude, I know, I just gotta find Derek real quick,” Stiles said, offering a quick smile. “I’m just gonna,” he gestured behind himself, and more or less ignored the quizzical frown on Scott’s face as he twisted away and jogged off following the path he’d taken the night prior. It was wishful thinking though, to think he’d be lucky enough to encounter Derek in the same spot again, but when he jogged past the place Derek had been arguing with Chris, he felt his stomach sink a little in disappointment.

Stiles strayed further out on his second circuit of the place, walking down one of the paths through the vineyard, The further he got from the party, the quieter and more surreal everything became. There were portable garden lights dotted around, Stiles guessed in case any of the partygoers went wandering around, much like he currently was, and he was thankful for those little pools of light as he moved, each one surrounded by tiny fluttering moths.

It was the sound of laughter that drew him up short. Not an uncommon sound at a party by any means, but the huskiness, the mocking lilt to it, had his hackles rising. Kate’s laugh sounded dirty; the kind of laugh that could be sultry and enticing, or cruel and condescending. Right now it straddled the line, which confused Stiles. He followed the sound of it, and startled violently when the fireworks started up behind him, the first loud boom cracking across the expanse of the vineyard with an echo. Stiles slammed his hand over his thumping heart, and looked back over his shoulder in time to see the spray of gold dissipate, and from then it was relentless. The bursting sound of fireworks filled his world, and he was starting to feel a little lost, without the sound of that laughter to guide him.

In amidst the fireworks though, was another sound. Something so similar it was almost drowned out, but it came from the wrong direction, flatter, less echoing. Infinitely scarier.

As the son of a Sheriff, Stiles knew what he was hearing.

He ran in the direction of the gunshot, trusting his instincts, not hesitating on the slightly uneven sloped ground. And soon, in the distance, he saw a figure slumped back against one of the trees that stood in a small cluster, one of many that were dotted around the property. Kate was just a silhouette in the darkness, standing a fair few feet back, the gun in her hand at odds with the tight green dress she was wearing.

Stiles hid himself behind another of the trees, pulse racing, breath sawing in and out.

Derek should be able to hear him, but then again, it seemed a hell of a lot like Derek had just been shot, so likely he had other things on his mind right now.

Stiles wasn’t even willing to entertain the idea that Derek wasn’t alive.

He heard the faintest high-pitched sound of a Catherine Wheel firework, and realised the display was drawing to a close.

“And what about the rest of them?” Kate asked, voice syrupy. “The sisters, they survived right? The pack bitches? You know, it’s probably long overdue that I visit Beacon Hills again. Check on the old stomping grounds, see the sights… Finish the job,” she taunted.

Stiles heard Derek snarling, but it sounded wet and sloppy, like maybe his lung had been punctured. Stiles had to believe it would heal.

It _had_ to.

“Did you ever tell them, Derek? The full story?” Derek’s breath was a moist rasp. “Or did you keep it a secret, like you always promised me you would. Did you keep your promise to me Derek? I wonder…” she trailed off, and the sound of her pulling back the hammer on the gun clicked through the air.

The crescendo of the fireworks followed, in loud booms that reverberated, and Stiles watched the colours bursting through the sky, golds and purples, the vibrant sparks spraying across the night sky.

He wondered if Scott was grinning up at them with his wide eyes.

“I wonder…” Kate repeated, her voice almost too loud in the ringing silence left in the wake of the fireworks. “…if they’d hold it against you. Would they blame you Derek? Would they look at you, and feel betrayed? Disgusted? No wonder you kept it all inside, all that guilt, all that suffering. I almost think I’d be doing you a favour, putting you down,” Kate chuckled lowly, and Stiles’ skin crawled.

“I was just a kid!” Derek bellowed, followed by a damp, hacking cough. Why wasn’t he healing? He said he had fast healing. Stiles pulled out his phone, and hid the screen with his vest, finding Scott’s number and texting him to find Chris ASAP and tell him to head down into the vineyard. That it was Kate. It was the best he could manage, and he just hoped Scotty listened.

“If I knew how good you’d grow up, maybe I’d have waited a while. Think it would still have worked huh? Think you’d have still gone for the hot older woman?” Kate sounded like she actually wanted an answer. Like on top of everything, she was fucking narcissistic enough to want Derek to tell her she was attractive. Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever hated someone so much as he did in that moment, hearing this woman who had, from the sounds of things, abused an underage Derek, now taunting him with it. _And_ wanting some kind of validation from him too.

“Fuck you,” Derek said weakly, his voice hoarse.

“Now, now Derek. No need for all this hostility,” Kate said sweetly.

Stiles heard Derek gasp in a sharp breath of pain, and snarl viciously, angrily. When he glanced around the tree, he saw Kate pressing her heeled foot against his chest. Stiles realised, with sickening clarity, that she was pressing her heel against his bullet would.

It wasn’t a conscious decision on his part, but one moment he was behind the tree, and the next he’d tackled Kate, using every single scrap of lacrosse knowledge he’d ever learnt from Coach. He slammed his body into hers, driving with his shoulder first, and as soon as they’d landed Stiles reared up, and punched Kate, felt her nose break under his hand. Tacky, hot, blood, instantly slicking over his skin. 

He’d never actually hit anyone before, and stupidly, hadn’t thought about how much it would hurt, but pain bloomed across his knuckles and made him gasp.

She’d dropped her weapon, so Stiles scrabbled for it, grabbing it in shaking hands as he positioned himself between Derek and Kate. She lay sprawled, and slowly lifted herself up on her elbows, bringing up a hand to wipe at her bloody face. She was grinning, but her eyes looked murderous.

“Well now. You’re a surprise,” Kate drawled, shaking her hair back. “Did I really fuck you up so badly you turned to men?” Kate laughed, looking across to Derek. “At least you picked a fun one,” she smirked, dragging her eyes up Stiles.

Stiles seriously debated the merits of pistol whipping her.

“Well from the sounds of things, I’m probably a little too old for you. What with being past the age of consent and all,” Stiles said, voice flat. Later, he would be proud his voice hadn’t been shaking.

Kate laughed, and began to push to her feet, but Stiles levelled the gun on her. “It’s not like playing video games sweetheart. Think you have what it takes to pull the trigger?”

Stiles settled himself back into the weaver stance, bending one elbow and adopting the push-pull grip to absorb any recoil, just like his dad taught him. “My dad, the Beacon Hills Sheriff, and I… Well we’ve been going to the shooting range for years now,” Stiles said, conversationally. Kate had paused, her weight half pushed up on one hand. “He always told me to never put my finger on the trigger, unless I was prepared to really take the shot.”

Stiles carefully slid his pointer finger, that had been laying long along the side of the gun, to curl around the trigger, never taking his eyes off Kate.

And the scary thing was, he wasn’t even sure if he was bluffing. Each laboured breath he heard coming from Derek behind him just made him was to squeeze the damn trigger even more.

“You really think he’s worth it?” Kate asked, looking up at Stiles. “He’s the one that let me in, you know,” she faux-whispered, as though sharing a secret. “He wanted me so badly,” she laughed. “Would have done anything I asked, just to have me.”

“So you used him to burn his family alive?” Stiles asked, voice incredulous with anger.

“I was putting down a pack of rabid animals, sweetie” she said, voice saccharine.

“So let me just get this straight,” Stiles said, holding steady. He was trying to buy them time, hoping that Chris was heading this way as they spoke. “Derek’s family, his… pack. Werewolves, right?”

“Hasn’t he filled you in on this yet? Given you a grand confession? Haven’t his eyes flashed that pretty blue while he’s fucking you?”

Stiles’ breath felt trapped in his throat, choking him, but he pushed through. “So they’re monsters right? Violent, inhuman, slaves to the animal within?” he asked, voice taking on that sarcastic lilt he so often failed to suppress. The one he hid behind when it hurt too much not to.

“Well now you’re gettin’ it,” Kate said, as though he were a dog performing a trick for her.

“But you… An adult woman, who seduced a teenage boy, gets close to him… all to murder his family in cold blood. You’re the hero in this scenario?”

“Real life isn’t about hero’s kid,” she replied. “I did my job, and no one can blame me for I having a little fun doing it.”

“You had fun,” Stiles repeated, using every ounce of willpower he had to not increase the pressure on the trigger. Such a small amount, as twitch of his finger, and she’d be dead.

Kate smirked, and her eyes flicked over to Derek. Stiles wanted to gouge them out so she could never look at him again.

“Stiles!”

Chris shouted his name from a distance, voice shattering the tension just enough to distract Stiles. He reflexively glanced over at the direction Chris’ voice had come from, and Kate took the chance. She scissored her legs around his, tripping Stiles to the floor with a jerking sweep. He was probably one of the most susceptible people in the world to moves like that, thanks to his ability to trip over his own feet, so down he went. He landed with a solid thump, bearing the brunt of the impact on his shoulder, elbow digging in to his ribs painfully. He was just grateful he’d taken his finger off the trigger when Chris had shouted, so he didn’t accidentally shoot himself in the fall.

Instead he crashed down to the floor, legs tangled up in Kate’s, and she rolled and pinned him. Giving a little payback with a solid backhand. Stiles’ face felt like it was exploding in pain. He’d never been hit before, and he _really_ didn’t like it. He struggled fruitlessly beneath her, trying to buck her off him, but she rode out his movements. It spoke of her experience in combat that she was barely moved by it all, waiting until she could manoeuvre herself and pin him down with a forearm to his throat.

He scrabbled to grab her hair and pull it, but she pushed harder and suddenly he was convulsing with the need to cough.

“Humans who run with wolves are almost worse you know?” she murmured, her muddy hazel eyes boring into his. “They make the choice, to sympathise with the beast.” She pressed down harder, and tears leaked from Stiles eyes as gagged violently.

This time, it was Derek who stopped Kate. Stiles had honestly thought he might be dead, or at the very least unconscious, but he was suddenly there, eyes blue and face contorted, snarling and grabbing the back of Kate’s neck with clawed hands, ripping her away from Stiles.

With a surge of strength he threw her a good ten feet, against one of the trees. Her body made a thudding impact and fell in a crumpled heap, still for the moment. Derek dropped to his knees and coughed up more blood, wet and dark in the low light.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles hissed though abused vocal cords, skittering to his knees and shoving his hand over the weeping wound in Derek’s chest without thought. He applied pressure, easing Derek down to the ground. Swallowing convulsively the entire time, half to try and wet his throat, half to stop himself from puking. 

“Wolfsbane,” Derek said, his hand coming up to grip Stiles’ shirt collar. He was tugging at it restlessly, eyes fluttering closed. His skin was clammy, pale. “The bullet.”

“Stiles!” Chris called again, closer this time.

“Here!” Stiles tried to yell, but his throat felt too dry and he ended up coughing instead. Still making a ton of noise though, so it worked out.

His noise also began to rouse Kate, and she let out a low groan, shifting slightly with a hiss.

“The bullet,” Derek repeated, making no sense to Stiles. He knew wolfsbane was poisonous to werewolves, or at least it has been in a bunch of movies he’d seen, and even a cure in Ginger Snaps, but Derek looked like he was _dying_. Definitely not good. Stiles got his cellphone out and turned on the flashlight, flickering the light around them to see where the gun had fallen, and once he’d secured that, he shone the light on Derek’s wound.

It was, in a word, revolting. Disgusting. Vile. Stiles gagged, and immediately regretted that when his throat ached, but he forced himself to look back at it. The wound was a jagged, ripped mass of flesh, oozing black goo. Threads of black veined out from it under the skin, like the poison was traversing through Derek’s body in his blood stream. Stiles tamped down on his rising panic, particularly when he saw the smears of black around Derek’s mouth, from where he’d been coughing it up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles chanted. Derek blinked sluggishly at him, and promptly passed out.

“Fuck!” Stiles hissed.

He’d never been so thankful to see Chris Argent before in his life. Chris ran down the vineyard path, hurtling towards them, and skidded to a stop by Stiles, dropping to the other side of Derek and immediately scanning the wound with steady, cool eyes.

“The gun,” he snapped, holding his hand out. Stiles passed it over, and watched Chris eject the magazine, flicking one of the bullets into his hand. He bit the tip of it and jerked his head, around, trying to pry the cap free off the hollow point. Once he’d done that, he grabbed Stiles’ hand, and poured the dark purple powder from the bullet into Stiles’ hand.

“Wolfsbane?” Stiles asked.

Chris nodded and dug around in his pocket to pull out a lighter. “This’ll burn,” he said, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Stiles. Stiles nodded, so Chris held the lighter flame to the little pile of powder. It flared up like a chemical reaction, burning almost blindingly bright for a moment, heat searing Stiles’ palm, and then the powder was charred black and barely warmed. Had Chris not been holding Stiles’ hand, he would have scattered the powder everywhere thanks to the pain.

“In the wound,” Chris ordered, moving over towards Kate’s half-conscious form.

Stiles tipped the powder onto Derek’s chest and tentatively prodded it at the wound, prayed he wouldn’t throw up as he poked his forefinger into the bullet hole.

Derek’s eyes snapped open, glowing that unearthly blue, and his body arched off the ground as he snarled out, body convulsing. His mouth opened wide, fangs bared to the air. A low, rumbling snarl erupted from his throat, and his clawed fingers dug into the soft grassy earth beneath him. He let out a reverberating roar, one so low pitched it raised goosebumps on Stiles’ skin, shook him to his core. Then it was like his body abruptly drained of energy, sagging back down limply, head lolling to the side.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, voice pained. “Derek?” he repeated, slapping lightly at Derek’s lax face, then increasing in tempo.

“Move,” Chris ordered, gently easing Stiles off to the side, so at odd with his harsh tone. He took a deep breath, and then punched Derek in the face. Derek’s body jolted like he’d been electrocuted, and he bolted upright, breath heaving in and out of his chest. His eyes were frantic, skipping around from Chris to Kate, and finally settling on Stiles. He was blinking rapidly, eyes not quite tracking. He twisted at the torso, turning away from them, and his body heaved as he threw up, the sound wet as the remaining poison was purged from his body, splattering against the grassy floor.

Derek stayed hunched and twisted away, panting. “Derek?” Stiles said, voice tremulous and concerned. Derek looked over and winced, his head dropping forward, eyes averted.

Stiles just shook his head, pushing past Chris and wrapped his hand around Derek’s nape, pulling him into a hug and wrapping around him. It was as much for himself as for Derek. He _needed_ this. And so did Derek.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, he just clung for all he was worth.

“I’m taking her back to the States,” Chris finally said, standing from his crouch beside Kate. “I’ll hand her off to Laura myself.”

Derek pulled back from Stiles and looked up at Chris. “Why would you do that?” he asked, his voice raw. Fine tremors wracked his frame.

Stiles refused to stop touching him, hands firm against his upper back and arms.

“She killed your family Derek. It was murder, plain and simple. She took from you and yours, and it’s Laura’s place to decide what happens next. As Alpha.” Chris went to turn, but paused, just barely looking over his shoulder so Derek and Stiles could hear him clearly. “You’re not my enemy anymore Derek. You haven’t been for a long time.”

He walked and lifted Kate up, her body slumping against his. She’d probably broken bones with how she’d hit that tree, but Chris had handcuffed her anyway. He didn’t seem to be under any illusions about his sister.

Stiles had pressed his face against Derek’s throat, not caring about the black goo that was now coating them both, residue of the poison Derek had had coursing through him. “How’re we gonna make it out of here looking like this?” Stiles asked a moment later, swallowing thickly.

Derek stared at him, only inches between their faces. He urged Stiles’ jaw back gently, and brushed his fingertips over Stiles’ throat, over the bruising that was sure to already be blossoming under Stiles’ skin. “I’m sorry,” Derek said roughly.

“Wasn’t your doing,” Stiles said, grasping at Derek’s suit jacket. “None of it,” he urged, fingers and knuckles hurting with how tight he was clinging.

Derek unpeeled his hands and stood, urging Stiles up too. He rose up on shaky legs, and rubbed his dirty palms against his stomach, further ruining his vest to match the ruined shirt.

His hands were trembling so badly it was like they were vibrating.

Derek enfolded his shaking hands in his own, warm and steady, using them to pull Stiles against his body into a strong embrace.

“Can we go please?” Stiles asked, voice small and tentative, against Derek’s shoulder. “Please?”

He didn’t know how they were going to get back to their small poolside villa, how they’d manage to slip out without notice, or how they’d explain that to Allison and the others, and it seemed an almost insurmountable task to him right now, which was ramping up his anxiety.

“Yeah, we can go Stiles. We can go,” Derek soothed, stroking his hand down Stiles’ back.

Stiles closed his eyes, leaning his body weight into Derek, and trusted him to get them safely away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating going up because of violence...
> 
> ...Also, this is drawing to a close! One chapter and an epilogue left! Woo!


	9. Nine

They’d made their way home the night before under the cover of darkness, and with the help of Chris Argent squirrelling them away in his car and dropping them back by the pool villas whilst everyone else was still partying the night away. Stiles had dropped Scott and Lydia texts, saying they’d headed back for the night, followed up with a winky face just so they’d assume that was what was up, rather than going down the path of thinking something was wrong.

Stiles had taken a scorching hot shower, pinkening his fair skin with near scalding water, washing blood from his swollen lip where Kate had hit him, poking at the slight burn mark on his palm, and watching the water turn a dirty grey as the black slick Derek had coughed up on him drained away.

He balled up his dirty shirt and vest, stuffing them in a bag as unsalvageable. He wouldn’t want the reminders of tonight anyway.

He’d walked out to see Derek standing in the kitchenette, kettle boiling and cups out, his face hastily wiped with a wet rag that lay on the counter, looking so wearied. Something like a thousand yard stare on his face. Stiles touched his elbow lightly, and Derek barely reacted, just turning his head slightly.

“Shower’s free,” Stiles said, keeping his voice quiet in that way people reserved for churches and libraries. He moved around Derek, searching the cupboards for teabags, and was pleased to find vanilla rooibos ones. It sounded nice and soothing, so he dropped a bag in each cup, and filled them with the boiling water. He took the cups to the sofa, putting them on the coffee table and turned on the TV, volume low, and made sure all the blinds were tightly closed, shutting out the world outside.

When Derek emerged a while later, he was clean and clad in comfy clothes, feet bare. Stiles urged him over, and pressed the warm mug of tea into his hands, and they sat in silence, sipping tea and watching TV that Stiles couldn’t understand.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” Derek said finally, the first words he’d uttered since they’d gotten back.

“Me either,” Stiles said simply, settling back against the arm of the sofa. He could see Derek looking at him, in his peripheral vision, but Stiles kept his eyes on the TV for now. He thought that maybe Derek would look away if Stiles tried for eye contact right now. He wasn’t surprised when Derek abruptly stood and left the room, but he was surprised when he returned, blanket wadded up in his arms.

“Can I…?” Derek asked, nodding his chin to the sofa.

“Sure,” Stiles agreed readily, watching as Derek wrapped himself up in the blanket and curled himself up, laying with his head on Stiles’ thigh. He shifted them around, inch worming up until he was seemingly satisfied with how they were laying, Stiles now reclining against the arm of the sofa with Derek pillowed on his chest, under his arm, blanket covering the parts of them it could reach.

Stiles carded his hands through Derek’s damp hair, rubbed his thumb behind Derek’s ear, felt some of the tension easing from his body.

“I don’t do relationships,” Derek said, apropos of nothing.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed.

“They aren’t safe,” Derek said, then stopped. Stiles didn’t slow the motions of his hands, keeping them steady and comforting.

“I can see why your experiences would make you feel that,” he said carefully. If Stiles had lived through what Derek had, he’d likely never trust again, so Stiles wasn’t going to diminish him by telling him he was wrong. Because he wasn’t, as far as he knew.

“And you’re annoying. It wouldn’t last five minutes, without me wanting to gag you or something,” Derek added.

“There’s that. And you’re growly and grumpy and might actually be allergic to things like fun.”

“I can’t ever fall in love,” Derek said quietly.

“I haven’t asked you to,” Stiles said.

“Not yet. But you deserve someone who can love you.”

Stiles sighed and kept quiet, because he knew his only response could be _‘and so do you,’_ and that would go down as well as a ton of bricks with Derek right now. So he didn’t speak, but curled his arm tighter around Derek, and kept up playing with his hair, until they’d both fallen asleep, exhausted.

They had another week in Italy, and Stiles decided they should actually see some of Florence, as lovely as the villas and Tuscan countryside had been so far. They borrowed a car, because it turned out Derek loved driving. Hence the Camaro, he explained. A somewhat impulsive purchase because he’d wanted a fast car and preferred the design specs of the modern Camaro to the modern Mustang. It had been an aesthetic thing, he admitted unashamedly, settled somewhat incongruously behind the wheel of a small compact white Fiat Punto.

Stiles couldn’t help but giggle at the way Scott was near folded up in the back, hair being ruffled by the warm breeze whist he clung to Kira’s hand. Derek looked relaxed, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick between them, shifting lazily when needed.

Allison had told them Chris had had to leave quite urgently that morning over breakfast, though she didn’t know what it was about. Derek had looked like he could finally take a deep breath, and Stiles realised what it must have been doing, to be here with members of the Argent family. Even before Kate showed up. Now he knew the full story, Stiles was torn between wishing he’d never asked Derek to come, and finding it hard to regret it because without this trip, he’d never have gotten to know Derek in the same way.

The streets of Florence were narrow and cobbled, but Derek navigated them with ease, eventually managing to somehow wedge the car in a tiny slip of a parking spot near their hotel and paid the parking fee with a fistful of euros. They were fairly central, and decided to head towards the Arno River as their starting point for exploration after checking in for the night. They walked along the riverbank, towards the Ponte Vecchio bridge, which Stiles informed them was the only bridge in Florence to survive World War 2 without being destroyed.

They stopped off for gelato, both Stiles and Scott slightly awed by the choices of flavours, and headed towards the home of Galileo’s finger, in the Museo Galileo. It was as cool as Stiles had expected it to be, encased in a glass egg shaped case, all long and wizened. He and Kira both gushed about the wonders of science, leaving Derek and Scott to shuffle around awkwardly, making stilted small talk with each other.

It was dark by the time they’d walked around the city, nosing through the street markets that sold leather bags in almost every shape and size imaginable, and Stiles had filled a huge chunk of his phone memory with pictures taken in the beautiful parks and squares, of the statues that were dotted around the city at random. It was so unlike anything he’d ever seen in America, not that he’d seen many American cities either, and it felt magical to Stiles. He was pleased they’d decided to spend the night in the city, and waved off Scott and Kira to their own dinner plans, curling his fingers around Derek’s arm as they decided if they were hungry enough to eat yet. Stiles had eaten a considerable amount of gelato through the day, and yet he was still very much pro-food.

“Come on Der, feed me! Use your nose to find us yummy food!”

Derek rolled his eyes fondly, and stalked off, leaving Stiles to rush after him.

“Are you doing it? Are you sniffing us out good food?” Stiles chattered, grabbing Derek’s hand to hold. It heartened him that Derek allowed this, slowed down enough for Stiles to be able to walk comfortably whilst talking about everything around them. He had a running commentary going, and was gazing up at the detailing on some of the buildings, when Derek stopped, and Stiles promptly bumped into him, ricocheting off Derek’s sturdy shoulder. “Dude, what -”

“We’re here,” Derek said, answering Stiles without actually answering anything at all. It was a skill of his. A really annoying skill.

“Where is here?”

“Here,” Derek said slowly, like Stiles was exceedingly stupid. He pulled Stiles into a corner building, devoid of anything but a glass fronted door. The room they walked into was small, with a smattering of red clothed tables, with wall sconces lit low. The tables were more or less all occupied. A woman came bustling over to them, and began talking in rapid fire Italian. Stiles’ jaw may have dropped when Derek responded in kind, pausing briefly only to select the correct wordings, but conversing with a fluency that Stiles hadn’t expected.

The woman led them to a table in an alcove, and patted Derek on the shoulder as she stepped away, only to return with a bottle of red wine, which she poured without the usual rigmarole of letting the customer taste a sip first.

“Gioia and Roberto know what is good food, and good wine. If you eat here, you trust them to feed you well,” Derek explained as she filled Stiles’ wine glass. “They don’t have menus, but you can let them know if you have a dietary need or something.”

“Well, I’ll eat just about anything,” Stiles said.

“Believe me I know,” Derek replied dryly, lifting his glass up and taking a sip. Stiles followed suit, and was pleased to find the wine wasn’t too acidic or bitter, but quite fruity and rich. He liked it, had maybe developed a teeny bit of a taste for wine during this trip.

“How’d you know this place?” Stiles asked, glancing around. “Recommendation?”

“Something like that,” Derek said, a smile playing about his mouth.

“Fine, be mysterious,” Stiles glared. Derek smiled at him, and scratched at his cheek, looking away. “Did you plan this?”

“I made reservations, yeah.”

Stiles huffed, and sat back in his chair, reaching his legs out to hook his feet around Derek’s. “You speak Italian,” he stated, eyeing Derek.

“I’m aware of that,” Derek said, raising an eyebrow. Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. “I like languages,” Derek explained, fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass.

“How many do you speak?”

“I’m fluent in Italian, and conversational in Spanish. I can read French better than I speak it. I’ve learned some Japanese through Kira, though I still have a ways to go. I’d like to learn Cantonese too.”

“Wow.”

Derek shrugged.

“No really, that’s impressive dude. Being a polyglot is… wow. I mean I’ve only mastered the English language, and can barely pronounce my own name thanks to the whole Polish pronunciation thing.”

“It’s just memorising stuff,” Derek said.

Stiles shook his head but let the subject go. Gioia was approaching, with two plates now anyway, so Stiles moved his napkin into his lap and smiled up at her. She placed a plate before him, with a ramekin of something that looked like paste, with slices of toasted bread, and a small salad.

“Crostini di Legato,” Derek said, going for his knife. “It’s a Tuscan spread, with a base of chicken livers.”

“Um.” Stiles looked at his plate, and steeled himself, trying to to pull a face at the idea of eating livers. “Okay,” he finally nodded, scooping up some of the paste and smearing it on the bread, as Derek had done. He added a couple salad leaves just to maybe make it more palatable, and took a tentative bite. It was… good. Really good. He looked up to find Derek smiling at him, as though he could read Stiles’ mind. Stiles just nodded, “s’good,” and hummed happily, taking another, bigger bite. It was rich and flavourful, smooth and meaty but without being gross. He pretty much scraped his ramekin clean by the time he was done, wiping his slightly crumby hands on his lap.

“Liked it?” Derek asked, smirking.

“Surprisingly, yes. I hear liver and start having visions of dining with Hannibal Lecter, but that was good stuff.”

“Well, you could never accuse the Italian’s of not being good with food.”

“How do you know so much about it here?”

Derek tapped his fingers on the table and seemed to be deciding how much to say. “My mother, she was Italian. We grew up eating a lot of Italian foods, and she’d tell us off in Italian when she got really angry. We used to push, to see who could make her switch languages first.” Derek was smiling wistfully, staring down into the contents of his glass. “I think she’d have liked you,” he said suddenly, sitting back to allow Gioia space to clear their table. He spoke to her briefly, presumably telling her it was delicious, or at least Stiles hoped it was that he was because he nodded enthusiastically and wondered how a thumbs up would go down with Gioia.

“You barely like me,” Stiles teased, resuming their conversation.

Derek huffed, and stared at Stiles. “Really.”

“Are you implying you like me?” Stiles prodded, hiding his smile behind his wine glass.

“Stiles, from the moment you got within 50 feet of me, I could _smell_ you. It was… intriguing. Part of me wanted to take you home and see what you were like when you come undone, but then there was Scott and Kira, and the pack seemed to really like you. It would have been complicated. Add in Peter, and I guessed it wasn’t worth the trouble. Turns out maybe I was wrong.”

Stiles swallowed and scratched his hair, trying to order his thoughts. “I don’t…”

“I’m not declaring love or anything. And I stand by what I said last night. You deserve better.”

“I don’t think you really get to tell me what I do or don’t deserve,” Stiles said without heat. It was a fact, and he stated it as such.

“That’s fair,” Derek agreed. Gioia returned with some kind of rich stew with thick pasta, and a salad with chunks of bread in it. “This it a rabbit stew with pappardelle pasta, and Panzanella salad,” Derek said, gesturing with his fork.

Stiles pursed his lips, but took a bite of the salad, spearing a chunk of bread. It was delicious, of course. “So what _are_ you saying?” he asked, using a spoon to push some of the pasta on his fork. He stifled a groan at his first mouthful, herby and wine-rich.

“I’m saying… I don’t know. I can’t make you promises, or tell you we’re gonna be boyfriends and it’ll all be okay. But I trust you, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone who isn’t in my pack,” Derek said. “I spend time with you, listen to you talk, and think my mom would have liked you. She’d have loved how sarcastic and smart you are. She’d have wanted to feed you up.”

“That sounds kind of amazing,” Stiles said quietly, “and Derek. No one can know it’s all going to be okay. I don’t want promises made if they can’t be kept, and there’s zero guarantees in life, so… no promises. I’m okay with that too,” Stiles shrugged.

Derek looked almost pained, staring across the small table at Stiles.

“No declarations okay. Let’s just eat our food, because it’s _amazing_ , and go back to our room, and enjoy the rest of this trip. And we’ll see how it goes.”

“At some point down the line, you’re going to want more than that,” Derek said quietly.

“Remember what I said about the whole deserving better thing? Same applies here. You don’t get to tell me what I want either. Now eat,” he ordered, poking the salad bowl with a finger to nudge it over to Derek.

Derek nodded, taking a bite of his food, but he relaxed in increments as the meal wore on. They kept the conversation light, and steered clear of any discussions about their relationship status. When dessert was served, Stiles took a bite of the most delicious marscapone and figs concoction, groaning as the creamy flavour was overlaid with an alcoholic tang of marsala wine from the syrup. He licked his spoon clean, and loaded up his next mouthful.

Stiles looked up to Derek, wonder in his eyes at how good this dessert was, and found Derek already looking at him with darkened eyes. “You okay there big guy?” Stiles asked, shifting in his seat, licking his lips. Derek looked unnervingly like he wanted to devour Stiles.

Derek shook himself and nodded, taking a bite of his own dessert but he looked a little glazed-over. The mood between them had shifted, rapidly, and it left Stiles feeling weirdly apprehensive, nervous and excited all swirly together in his stomach at once. He knew he wanted Derek, he knew Derek wanted him, but now it felt very much like _when_ and not  _if._ With both of them sneaking glances and eventually just outright staring at each other’s eyes and mouths as they finished their desserts, obviously counting down the minutes. Derek paid, and they were both kissed on the cheek by Gioia who called Derek beautiful (Stiles agreed, wholeheartedly,) and cupped his face in her hands, grinning at his blush.

They weren’t too far from their hotel, and they walked back largely in silence, though Stiles fidgeted enough for Derek to grab his hand just to still him. It did the opposite, and now Stiles was twitching, far too aware of Derek's hand holding his to stop his hand from involuntarily clenching and releasing.

Derek, however, seemed calm and steady. He stood in the lobby, waiting for the elevator statue-still whilst Stiles was flicking through brochures he’d grabbed from the stand by the reception, wanting a distraction. “Hey, did you know the David isn’t even _the_ David. It’s a replica,” Stiles said, walking into the elevator without looking up. He was barely reading the words, but he just needed something to do with himself, because he was trying really hard not to give in to the urge to jump Derek’s bones. Since they'd left the restaurant he'd begin to second guess himself, as was his standard operating procedure, and now wasn’t even sure if sex  _was_ on the cards for them. But God did he want it to be.

His eyes were sightlessly roaming over the English translation of the brochure, when Derek plucked the brochure from his hands, and held Stiles’ chin between his fingers, lifting his head and pressing his lips to Stiles’. It was a soft kiss, a lingering press of lips that nevertheless made Stiles feel slightly wobbly-legged.

“Um,” he breathed when Derek pulled back, still close enough for their breath to be skating over each other’s mouths. Derek’s eyes were searching Stiles’, and he must have been satisfied with whatever he’d found in them, because he pulled Stiles in with a hand to his back, and lifted him, grabbing his thigh and directing it around his waist. Stiles meeped at the sudden action, but took the hint, wrapping his legs around Derek, and leaning back a little to balance them out.

They’d arrived at their floor, so Derek strode from the elevator, moving towards their room. Stiles decided to take advantage of his position, and lightly bit at the shell of Derek’s ear, tracing the shapes with his slick tongue. Derek growled and paused to push Stiles against the wall, rolling his hips against Stiles’ before he leaned back, getting Stiles away from his ear.

“Behave,” he warned, palming Stiles’ ass roughly and getting them to their door. Stiles dropped his feet to the floor and slid his hands around Derek’s waist and up under his shirt, skating them over hard muscle and warm skin. He circled behind Derek, and bit at the back of his neck, hands dipping low on his abdomen, and Derek groaned, fumbling with the key card. “Fuck,” he hissed, grabbing Stiles’ hands in his to stop them from straying downwards. Derek opened their door, and yanked Stiles into the room, pulling him around and in front of him. Stiles stumbled a little in the darkness, but turned back to face Derek.

His eyes were glowing that unearthly blue in the darkness, and it was all Stiles could see of him as his own human eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness after the light in the hallway. The drapes were open, and the moon was offering enough light for Stiles to make out Derek’s outline, details and features coming in to focus as he stepped closer. Stiles opened his mouth, not sure if he was trying to speak or just breath, and closed his eyes as Derek stepped up next to him. He dipped his head and nuzzled under Stiles’ jaw, lips barely touching the skin he found there as he inhaled, letting out a low grumbling sound.

“I wish I had the words to tell you what your scent is like right now,” Derek said, not moving. His lips brushed Stiles’ skin as he spoke, and Stiles was shivering with it. “It’s like everything gets thicker, sweeter, more intense. I can _smell_ how hard you are for me Stiles,” he breathed, sounding awed. “You’re weeping for me,” he said, reaching out a hand and dragging his fingers tips down Stiles’ erection where it was trapped against his thigh. Stiles’ breath punched out of him, and his hips jerked forwards. More precome slipped from the tip, wetting his boxers slightly.

Derek dropped to his knees, and pressed his face to Stiles’ groin, rubbing his jaw and cheek against Stiles’ cock, hands pushing at Stiles shirt. “Take this off,” Derek said, voice husky and needy. Stiles’ hands felt clumsy, but he did as he was told, dropping his shirt at his feet. Derek’s breath was hot, even through the denim of Stiles’ jeans, as he mouthed at Stiles, fingers undoing the button and zipper deftly. He sat back then, and peeled off his own shirt and undid his jeans, and looked up at Stiles with an expectant look on his face.

“Wha-?” Stiles couldn’t form coherent words right now, with Derek kneeling before him with his torso bared, highlighted by moonlight, catching the strong curves of his shoulders, the delicate lines of his collarbones.

Derek looked at Stiles’ groin, something hungry in his gaze, and nuzzled with his nose. He bit at the waistband of Stiles’ boxers, tugging and letting the elastic snap back lightly against Stiles’ hips. Stiles twitched, and Derek smirked up at him, raising his eyebrows. Stiles jolted into motion, pulling himself out and shoving his boxers down, barely making it to mid-thigh before Derek was on him again, bypassing Stiles aching dick to mouth at his balls. Stiles looked down to find Derek looking up at him, and had to grip himself tightly so he didn’t come then and there.

It’d been a while, and Stiles was a pretty damn fucking responsive guy.

And then Derek was gripping himself with slow tugs. Stiles may have whimpered, but he defied anyone to see Derek like that and remain cognisant. 

Derek didn’t tease, but licked up Stiles’ cock, laving around Stiles' gripping fingers, tonguing the slit at the tip to lap up Stiles’ taste. When Stiles fed Derek his cock, Derek didn't hesitate in swallowing him down, rubbing his tongue along the underside as he pulled back, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Stiles let out what might have been the most helplessly heartfelt sound he’d ever made in his life, and clenched his hands into fists, trying to lock his knees as his thigh muscles spasmed. Derek took hold of his hand, interlacing their fingers, and he used his tongue to push the sensitive head of Stiles' dick to rub against the roof of his mouth with firm pulls of hot suction and sensation that took Stiles to the edge.

Stiles threw his head back, unable to hold back, and the rush of release coursed through his body, muscles jerking, his hand holding Derek’s so tight he thought he’d leave bruises behind. He was panting, body still reeling through aftershocks as Derek licked him clean, pressing kisses to Stiles’ thighs and hips. Stiles slid down to the carpet, joining Derek on the floor, and relished the salty tang of his own come still flavouring Derek’s mouth as he finally kicked off his boxers and crawled into Derek’s lap, kissing him with all he had.

He was near squirming against Derek, hands roaming over the parts he could reach when Derek lifted him again, dropping Stiles down onto his back on the bed. Derek shoved his jeans and underwear down without ceremony, and crawled on top of Stiles, making a little contented grumbling sound when his erection pressed against Stiles’ hip as he rolled his body over Stiles’, nudging his chin back and biting softly at his neck, teeth dragging at tender skin. Stiles hooked one of his legs over Derek’s hip, urging his movements on, and Derek dropped a hand to knead Stiles’ ass, dipping his fingertips just between Stiles’ cheeks and brushing dry over his hole. Stiles gasped, back arching, body pushing into the touch.

“I need to fuck you,” Derek panted against Stiles’ cheek, pausing for a messy kiss. “Please, can I? Stiles…” he groaned, sounding near frantic.

“Oh my God how is that even a question,” Stiles tangled his hand in Derek’s hair, directing him into another kiss.

“Stiles please, I need to hear you say yes,” Derek mumbled, speaking around Stiles’ kiss.

“Yes Der, fuck. All the yeses, ever, in existence.”

Derek growled and rolled them so Stiles was blanketing his body, hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head to keep him in place for kisses.

“Need stuff,” Stiles stuttered, pulling back. “One sec,” he scooted off the bed, and dug around in his wallet, pulling out a couple of condoms and two sachets of lube. “You don’t get to judge me right now, not when you’re about to reap the rewards of my boy-scout levels of preparedness,” Stiles said, crawling back to Derek. He settled back over Derek’s lap, straddling him. He promptly got stuck on the sight of Derek’s abs tensing and relaxing as he moved his hips, pressing himself up against Stiles in an unconscious motion.

“Stiles,” Derek snarled, sounding slightly frustrated. Stiles snapped his gaze up to Derek’s face. “Please.”

Stiles nodded, and ripped open a sachet with his teeth, squeezing the contents onto his fingers. He worked himself open without ceremony, just barley letting himself stretch out enough before he stuffed in another finger, and then a third, wincing a little but too needy for Derek to care. Derek had rolled on the condom and was stroking himself, almost looking like each pass of his hand was hurting him, so intense was the expression on his face. Stiles wiped the remaining lube over Derek’s cock, and grabbed at Derek’s hand to hold himself steady and upright. Stiles reached behind himself, pressing his fingers into himself shallowly, and removed them just in time to sink down onto Derek slowly, feeling the slightly burning stretch, the incomparable sensation of being filled up.

Derek’s eyes were screwed shut, and he gasped, pushed his hips up just as Stiles bottomed out, pressing in as much as he could. Stiles circled his hips, feeling Derek almost impossibly deep inside, watched Derek’s eyes fly open, shining blue. “Oh God, fuck me Stiles,” he rasped, and Stiles was done with restraint. He slid up Derek, body clenching to keep him inside, and pushed himself back down, soon finding a punishing rhythm that suited them both. Derek’s body strained up to meet him every time Stiles pushed down, and Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of Derek, muscles tensed and lightly dampened with sweat, cords of his neck straining. Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, yanking him down into a bruising kiss until they were more or less just panting into each others mouths’, little mewls escaping Stiles and being swallowed up by Derek.

When Derek reached down and curled his hand around Stiles without Stiles realising he’d even moved, so enraptured was he with the expression on Derek’s face, the desperation in his eyes, it shocked the orgasm from Stiles. He cried out and shook with it, body clutching around Derek as he arched and pushed down so Derek was as deep as he could get, grinding down on him so he felt fuller than he ever had before as his cock kicked spurts of come over Derek’s abs. Abs that were spasming as Derek emptied himself inside of Stiles, mouth open in a silent groan. He huffed out a slightly pained sound and twitched as Stiles lifted himself, Derek slipping out of him, likely over-sensitised in the same was Stiles currently was.

Stiles flopped on his back beside Derek, and tried to remember how to breathe without sounding like he was dying, to no avail.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. “I’d request the highest of fives, but I don’t think I can move.”

“I’m _never_ high-fiving you after sex,” Derek said, sounding slightly breathless himself.

“Dude, keep fucking me like that and you’ll never have to. I have jelly instead of bones right now.”

Derek huffed out an amused and self-satisfied sound, and turned his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ shoulder.

“We did good,” Stiles said, unable to keep quiet even after mind-blowing sex.

“We did,” Derek agreed.

“No dude, seriously. We did so good.”

“I concur. Now shut up and nap, because I’m nowhere _near_ done with you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my late-ness with this one. Work has been kicking my butt in a big way, and I needed to recalibrate. So this is maybe a bit... hasty? in tone, but I just wanted to get it out. 
> 
> Also rating has gone up to Explicit!


	10. Epilogue

**_Eighteen months later…_ **

 

“Take these out back son.”

Sheriff John Stilinski passed the two of the oversize baggies of marinating ribs to Derek, and shooed him outside. Laura was manning the grill, which was a cause for concern, but she’d looked so gleeful when she’d grabbed up the tongs that John figured they could cope with eating slightly charred ribs if need be.

Go back a couple years, and he never would have believed he’d be hosting a cook out on his small patch of back yard, attended by a werewolf pack. He’d have probably sent anyone who seriously tried to suggest in the existence of mythological creatures off to Eichen house for assessment two years ago. Less than.

Stiles had been angry when he’d gotten home from the wedding in Italy, to find out Laura Hale and Chris Argent had both approached him about the situation with Kate Argent. He swore he’d only just found out about werewolves himself, and John believed him on that, but Stiles was scared John would get hurt if he was involved. Stiles was always scared John was going to get hurt, to be taken away. He lived under the shadow of it and thought John didn’t notice, but he always did. He knew, and it broke his heart, to see the lingering effects of Claudia’s death taking their toll on his son.

His recklessly brave, caring son, who didn’t seem to understand that for all he wanted to take care and protect the ones he loved, they wanted to protect and care for him too.

That was one thing he’d thank the pack for. They’d taken Stiles in, given him an extended family that refused to take his shit, who were just as overbearing and loud as he was himself, and they’d made him understand that they’d do anything for him. Stiles was calmer now, a little more at home in his skin, a little less determined to prove himself at every turn.

And Derek Hale? He was undoubtedly the biggest cause for the changes in John’s son.

They’d returned from Italy with that glow about them that all new couples had. An awareness of each other at all times, not yet entirely comfortable, but ever aware. John remembered how that felt, when he’d first met Claudia, and he could almost sense when she’d walk in a room, unable to stop from turning towards her with a smile. He’d once told her she was like the sun in that regard, and she’d laughed at him and called him a big sap, kissing him on the tip of his nose. That had been her favourite thing to do, to show John her affection. It had been the last thing she’d done, before he left for his shift. The shift he’d been working when she’d died.

It hurt a little less to remember her now, and John was grateful for that. Surrounded by loud kids who were all playing at being adult, chattering around mouthfuls of potato chips and playing frisbee whilst Stiles undoubtedly made _doggy! fetch!_ jokes. John looked out the window, and saw Stiles grinning, sitting high up on Derek’s shoulders holding the frisbee hostage. Isaac and Erica were both jumping inhumanly high but still swiping ineffectually at the air, and Kira was clambering onto Scott’s shoulders, ready to do battle. He would have been worried about Stiles falling and hurting himself, as his inexplicably clumsy son was wont to do, but Derek wouldn’t let Stiles get hurt. None of them would.

Derek had stopped looking quite so hunted, John noticed, over the past year. His smiles were no longer reserved only for Stiles, and he didn’t duck away when he laughed anymore. Stiles wasn’t the only one to experience positive changes thanks to their relationship, John knew, but more than that, Derek no longer lived with the burden of secrets and guilt. Kate Argent was serving life in Eichen House, in a secure unit with no chance of release. Not for the calculated murder an entire family in cold blood. Her claims they weren’t human, were rabid animals, had landed her in the institution rather than prison, but John wasn’t too hung up on the specifics, as long as she was locked away where she couldn’t hurt his son or the pack.

The more he learned about the pack, the more he’d been surprised that Laura had handled it that way. Peter, her right hand man, would have happily killed Kate. He made that known, vocally and repeatedly, throughout the entire legal proceeding. Swore he would if she ever got out.

After listening to what Kate had done, John wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Are you standing in front of the refrigerator for any particular reason?”

John blinked, realised he’d been standing with the fridge door open, staring out the window at the kids. “No, just getting a beer. Want one?”

“Please.”

John grabbed two cold ones, and popped their tops with the little bottle opener fridge magnet Stiles had once bought him. He handed a bottle to Peter, and they both took long swallows. As the adults of the pack, Peter and John had come to spend more time with each other than perhaps either had been initially comfortable with, but by now John knew when to ignore Peter, and Peter knew when to shut up around John.

“Feeling nostalgic Sheriff?” Peter asked, slightly mocking in his drawl.

“I am actually,” John said, turning and leaning against the kitchen counter. “I suppose you’d know a little something about that.”

“More than I’d care to,” Peter agreed.

“Sheriff!” Cora yelled through the porch door. “Laura’s burning everything! It’s gonna be inedible, even with _our_ teeth.”

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’d best salvage what you can,” Peter said, sounding amused.

“They’re your pack,” John said, childishly. Peter laughed and followed John out to the yard.

“Cora! It’s only a little burnt, I can’t believe you ran off for the grown ups!” Laura yelled, outraged, ignoring the fact that she, for all intents and purposes, was also a grown up. She had on a Kiss the Cook apron, pale pink with bright kiss marks scattered around it, and her hands were on her hips, scowl on her face. How she was the most powerful werewolf around, John didn’t know, but there she was. Alpha of the Beacon Hills Hale pack, in all her glory.

“Laura you’re a terrible cook,” Derek interjected, having put Stiles down somewhere in the yard. “You could burn water if you really tried.”

“Shut up,” Laura scowled, brandishing the tongs like a weapon.

“Laura, hand them over,” John ordered, motioning with his free hand. Laura pouted, but gave him the tongs, shuffling aside so John could get to the grill. The ribs were doing okay, just a little toasted at the edges, but John had always through those were the tastiest bits anyway. “Not bad kiddo, not bad,” he said, putting the lid on the grill.

Laura preened, and Derek scoffed.

“Mind yourself there son, you’ll bring down the wrath of the Alpha,” John said mildly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah Der-bear. _Mind yourself._ ”

Derek pulled that one expression he was so fond of, something like, “you’re an absolute idiot, how do you walk and chew gum at the same time,” all wrapped up in a tic of his eyebrows. Laura lunged at him and he caught her, spinning her around in the air. Laura laughed and slapped at Derek until he stopped, and leaned against him whilst she got her feet under her again.

“Yo Daddy-o,” Stiles greeted, sauntering over with a salute. “What’s cookin’?”

John lifted the lid so Stiles could peer over his shoulder.

“I see you got to it in time to salvage it,” he said sagely, ducking and laughing at Laura’s outraged squawk. He’d ducked to the other side of them, and then seemed to gravitate back towards Derek without noticing. Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles in something like a reflex action.

Those two were in it for the long haul. John didn’t know if they knew it yet, though he failed to see how they _couldn’t_ know it, but he looked at them both and they were it for each other. He thanked his lucky stars that Stiles had found a parter that loved him like that. Who he could love like that in return. It was a hell of a thing to see.

“She’s not _that_ bad,” Boyd said from his perch on a sun lounger next to Peter, bright red plastic sunglasses on his face. John was pretty sure they were Erica’s, because he could remember her declaring how they matched her lipstick perfectly.

“I knew you were my favourite for a reason,” Laura said, beaming at Boyd.

“I object,” Cora said, walking over with her hand tucked in Isaac’s.

“Object all you want, but you _definitely_ aren’t my favourite,” Laura said, resting her head on Derek’s shoulder. He had an arm wrapped around her too.

“When’s food gonna be ready guys?” Scott shouted over. He was sitting with Erica and Kira, both of them pushing flowers into his hair. Scott sat there happily, legs crossed, spinning the frisbee on one finger like a spinning plate. He’d asked Laura for the bite about a year ago, after discussing it with the pack, withhis mom, and with John himself. They’d all agreed it was worth the risks, to help Scott with his worsening asthma, and Laura had happily accepted him into her pack.

John did wonder if the time would come when Stiles would want the bite, but he didn’t like to think about that too much. He’d deal with that time as and when it happened.

“Soon. Someone go fetch me the burgers,” John called out, knowing one of them would scrabble off to get the plates of shaped burgers from the fridge. Sure enough, Isaac appeared within seconds, holding out the plate. John moved the ribs off to the side, and placed down rows of burgers, well aware he was going to be feeding many hungry mouths.

“Thanks kid,” John said once he’d emptied the plate. Isaac gave him a crooked smile and went to take the plate back in.

“Shall I get all the stuff out?” Derek asked. John nodded, so Derek moved away from Stiles and Laura, smiling softly at the little whining sound Stiles let out when Derek let him go. John wasn’t sure if it was ridiculously sweet, or sickening. He settled on scoffing and rolling his eyes at his son, laughing when Stiles pulled a face at him in return. Mature as ever, his boy.

Derek walked off, calling for Boyd and Peter to move their lazy asses and help, and the trio walked through to the kitchen, emerging with big bowls of pasta salads, bread rolls, varying condiments, and all the odds and ends of the BBQ food they’d eat brought over for the meal. Even with them being werewolves, it took multiple trips, and the tables looked positively laden with food by the time they were done. If they broke under the weight, John wouldn’t be surprised.

He had been stacking the ribs on a platter in the meantime, and he entrusted them to Isaac to take over, piling up burgers on the next platter.

“Okay kiddos, foods up!” Laura called, gathering up her wayward pack. They piled around the two tables, bumping elbows and jostling each other as they reached for food.

“Don’t lean over me!”

“Your hair is going to go in the salad.”

“Oh my God, it’s like you were raised by _wolves_!” That, of course, was Stiles, and earned a groan from most everyone sitting at the table.

“Peter why are their pickles in the potato salad?”

“It’s German.”

“Peter why are their pomegranate seeds in the cous cous?”

“It’s Moroccan, you uncultured swine.”

“Well that’s just uncalled for,” Cora pouted.

“What’s for dessert?” Isaac asked, cheeks bulging with food. His plate was piled high, but of course, he was thinking about dessert.

“Oh! Oh! It’s _awesome_ dude, just wait. We’re having an ice cream sundae bar!” Stiles bounced in his seat, gesturing with a rib in his hand. Derek deftly leaned back and avoided being hit in the face with a sauce smeared chunk of meat. He pushed Stiles’ forearm to move the food back towards Stiles’ mouth, and John had to laugh when Stiles just opened his mouth and let Derek guide the food in.

“Thought anymore about joining the department?” John asked, voice low even thought he knew the people at his table right now would _all_ be able to hear him.

Derek paused, setting his fork down. “I have, yeah,” he said carefully, still slightly skittish around John. Which was something of a problem. John wanted Derek in the department, because he would be invaluable. Not just for the werewolf perks, but Derek was smart and calm, at least when it came to people who weren’t Stiles. Stiles had once nearly been hit by a car taking a corner too fast, ignoring a Stop sign, and Derek had had to be talked down from finding the driver and breaking his hands. But he couldn’t hold that against him when he wanted to do the same thing himself. The problem was, he didn’t want Derek to agree to it, just because John asked it of him.

Hence the problem.

“And?” John asked, prompting. He’d asked Derek about this a month or so ago, and then backed off, giving him space to deliberate.

“I’d like to join,” Derek said, giving John a steady look. “If I can help people, then I’d like to that.”

“But?”

“There is no but. I’ve thought about it, I’ve talked with Laura, with Stiles… If you think I can do this, that I’ll be a good fit, and be able to help you, then I’m in.”

John narrowed his eyes a little, waiting for the catch.

“Of course, I come with a pack,” Derek said, obviously trying not to smile.

“I’m aware of that son,” John said flatly. He looked pointedly around the table, at all the chewing faces looking back at him.

“Which means I come with an Alpha,” Derek said, raising his eyebrows.

John groaned, a pained sound, and rubbed his hand over his face. A bit of bread bounced off his head and rolled across the table, and he looked up to see Laura sitting at the other end of the table glaring at him.

“I’d be an asset,” she said smugly.

“That you would,” John agreed.

“So why won’t you let me join up?”

“Because you threatened to castrate two of my deputies with your bare hands, and that was just the first time you dropped by!”

“They shouldn’t have been talking about my ass like that,” Laura said primly.

“And now you have Parrish, my go-to guy, making heart-eyes and forgetting anything else in the world exists every time you come strolling through the doors!”

“It’s not my fault he has such spectacular taste,” Laura replied, grinning. She eyeballed Parrish just as much as he eyeballed her, so it was really only a matter of time.

“You can’t take orders.”

“I’m an Alpha,” she replied, as though that should be obvious.

“Exactly! And in the Sheriff department? _I’m_ the Alpha,” John said, pointing to himself. Ignoring Peter’s choked laughter from the middle of the table.

“Pleeeeease John, I’ll be totally obedient,” Laura insisted, blinking big hazel eyes at John. He groaned, and she grinned, knowing she’d won.

“Fine, come Monday I want you both in first thing. And bring pastries,” John added, ignoring Stiles’ outraged little yelp, and resigning himself to the fact he’d be going grey with a lot more expedience than he’d expected.

But the town would also be much, _much_ safer, in the hands of the Hales, and he could only be grateful for that.

 

*****

 

“Oh my God I ate too much, I think I’m going to literally explode. Pop, splat, bye-bye Stiles.”

“You shouldn’t have eaten the second sundae.”

“But it was _calling_ to me Derek. Who am I to say no to the siren song of deliciousness?”

“You’re an idiot. That’s who you are.”

“But I’m your favourite,” Stiles preened.

“Yes, of the many idiots I know, you are my favourite,” Derek said evenly, hands submerged in warm sudsy water. They were running the dishwasher too, but there were too many plates and dishes for the washer to handle it all, and Derek had insisted on helping.

Just like Stiles insisted on laying on a beanbag he’d dragged into the kitchen, wanting to keep Derek company, even though the front room was currently drowning in stuffed, overindulged werewolves. And a Kitsune.

“Why does my food want me to suffer now Derek?” Stiles asked, a whining pitch colouring his tone. John rolled his eyes and continued scribbling on the pages in front of him, filling out the forms he’d need for Derek and Laura to join up as deputies. “Why does it hate me?” Stiles was complaining. Derek was employing the age-old technique of silence, letting Stiles whine and whimper to his hearts content. Derek finished up the dishes, and wiped his hands clean on the dishtowel, leaving everything to dry on the rack. “Derek I’m stuck down here. I’m never moving again.”

John laughed quietly under his breath, and looked up to watch them both. Derek was crouching down, and Stiles slung an arm around his neck, grumbling as Derek hoisted him upright and onto his feet, the beanbag making incessant scrunchy sounds as it surrendered Stiles’ weight. “You’re so dramatic,” Derek sighed, curling his arm around Stiles’ waist.

“Shut up, you don’t know how full I am.”

“Yes I do, I literally watched you eat twice your bodyweight Stiles. In fact, I recall saying, ‘Stiles you’re going to regret that later,’ on _multiple_ occasions, and what did you say?”

“Nothing! This is all lies! Slander!”

“You said, and I quote: ‘no Der, it’s fine. Us Stilinski’s have stomachs of steel.’”

“I’ve never said those words in my life,” Stiles insisted, shuffling towards the door. He paused and squeezed John on the shoulder as he passed. John had heard those very words more times than he could count. Had perhaps said them himself a time or two, if he was being honest.

“I don’t even need to hear your heartbeat to know you’re lying,” Derek said fondly.

“That… depends on your definition of lying,” Stiles mumbled. Derek looked at John, and John smiled, having been through this with Stiles more times than he could count.

“We’re not getting into this,” Derek chuckled. “Put him on the sofa?”

“Put him on the sofa,” John agreed.

“I’m right here! Right exactly here!” Stiles protests cut off as Derek sounded like he put his hands over Stiles’ mouth.

“Coming through,” Derek called out, no doubt stopping to help Stiles get comfy. John grimaced at the slight sound of smacking kisses. Derek walked back into the kitchen, and grabbed the last two beers from the fridge, giving one to John and sitting down beside him.

He was a good man, of that John had no doubt.

“So Derek,” he said, pushing one of the forms over. “Meet paperwork. You’re both going to be _very_ well acquainted from here on out…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go folks! I have intermittent internet access right now, so I can't reply to your comments, but I looooooove you all and thank you for reading!!


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